Survivors
by Whistler84
Summary: AU. When Angel gets visitors from a reality where Buffy is a vampire impregnated with Angelus’s child, and Cordelia is her new best friend with her own dark past, he knew life would never be the same . . . for anyone.
1. Prologue

Survivors  
  
By: Whistler84  
  
Summery: AU. Seeking sanctuary from a devastated reality, the PTB send a very unique pair to Wolfram and Hart. Who, you ask? . . . Buffy and Cordelia, that's who. Poor Wolfram and Hart.  
  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns all of the BtVS and AtS related characters. I own nothing but the plot, and even that is a major ripoff of Joss's stuff.  
  
Spoilers: All seasons of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. And up to the Smile Time episode in Angel, Season five.  
  
Rated: PG-13 for language.  
  
Quick A/N: Please review if you want me to proceed with this story, cause at this point its still all up in the air. I'd like to continue, but only if anybody wants me to. Also, English is my second language and I haven't been able to get a beta yet. I think I got all the errors, but I'm only human. Anyway, onto the show.  
  
Review, please  
  
--  
  
Even with the violent dizziness of post-portal traveling, Buffy Summers noticed that there was something very, very wrong with their destination. It was nothing more than a crater in the ground. And not a small crater mind you, but a big one, that conveniently covered what she could only assume was Sunnydale, California. The Hellmouth.  
  
Coincidence, she thought not.  
  
The only conclusion she'd been able to reach, in the thirty seconds she'd been standing there in what could only be described as stupefied shock, was that the Hellmouth here was actually gone. Evil had closed up shop and left - and put up a "no vacancy" sign in its wake. The thought had the effect of pushing the former slayer (a girl who like to think of herself as not easily shockable) slowly sinking into a daze.  
  
This realities' Hellmouth was actually closed.  
  
Wow.  
  
She found herself almost instinctively reaching out with her supernatural senses and feeling nothing of what she'd come to expect over the past few years. She could fell no malevolence resounding throughout the land, no baleful gust of wind, no beacon of wicked to be felt by anyone or anything. There was nothing left here except a faint shadow of evil that she could feel tracing over her skin. It wasn't the quiver she'd gotten use to these past years, but she felt it nonetheless. An echo of an echo, really. Too soft for anyone normal to feel, but Buffy Summers had never been normal.  
  
Not even years ago when she'd been alive.  
  
But something told her that as faint as that residue was, a thousand years of coarse wind and harsh rain wouldn't wipe that filth away. It was here to stay for all eternity. The Hellmouth's ghost would live on.  
  
The Hellmouth itself, however, would not.  
  
So as she stood upon the shaky rubble of what she could only assume had been a festering sore upon this Earth just as it had been upon her own, she couldn't quiet comprehend how that could have happened, and who could have pulled it off. Her mind easily supplied a few familiar possibilities of who - people she was sure had been fighting the good fight here just as they had been in her own world - but she didn't allow herself to dwell on them too long. It hurt too much to think of them. Her lost friends. Her lost life.  
  
Her lost love.  
  
As if sensing her mood and subtly reminding that she hadn't lost all, her only friend and companion in all the realities selected that moment to speak.  
  
"Wow. What big ass asteroid hit here?"  
  
Let it never be said that Cordelia Chase was a poet. She had wit so blunt, it's stop a bull in its tracks. Buffy found it annoyingly comforting; as was all things Cordelia. Her persona kinda grew on people after a while.  
  
But then again, so did cancer.  
  
"I have to say," She continued, shuddering. "On a level of one to creepy, we're really dipping into the red danger zone here."  
  
Buffy didn't bother to look over at person she'd come to call, as depressingly as it sounds, her best friend. She did however acknowledge her with an equally articulate response of -  
  
"Yeah. You could say that. Stupid red. Never liked that color anyway. Always made me look fat."  
  
Let it never be said that Buffy Summers was poet, either. Even if her life could kick the shit out of the most dramatic of Shakespearian plays at times.  
  
Cordelia smirked in response, what was sure to be bitting words poised on lips, but Buffy beat her to it. She knew exactly what was coming and decided to cut it off at the head. Sure, Buffy knew she had a little penance coming to her - Ok, scratch that - a lot of penance coming to her, but she was also pretty sure the PTB didn't have Cordelia's sparkling wit in mind as the weapon of choice . . . Unless they were exceptionally crueler then she'd ever imagined, that is.  
  
"One word about my weight," Buffy warned, "and I swear to god Cordelia, this soul won't stop me from hurting you badly. And slowly."  
  
Cordelia's smirk only grew, and she playfully patted Buffy's swelling tummy. "Not a word, mummy dearest."  
  
God, she hated being called that. At least when it was said in the sarcastic manner that Cordelia seemed to specialize in.  
  
"So, what's the plan?" Cordy asked, turning serious as she looked back out at the scene before them. "I doubt hitchhiking is much of a hope, seeing as there's nothing living out here that could actually, you know survive, much less come equipped with a drivers license and a car. Preferably a sports car, but I'm not picky."  
  
"You're asking me? You're the one that opened up the portal thingie and brought us here. Your demon powers couldn't have sensed a better place than a giant whole in the ground as a destination? Blind mice have a better sense of directions than you."  
  
Cordelia glared back. "Oh, gee. Sorry. I was kinda busy concentrating on opening an inter-dimensional vortex and carrying your fat ass into said vortex. All the while, by the way, worrying about your demon ex-lover of a psycho sweetie and his merry band of vampires. I guess I should have been thinking harder about landing somewhere in the Bahamas. Hell, if I played my cards right, I could have landed during the daytime and really ruined your tan-allergic fun." She huffed, literally. "We landed in a friggen' alternate reality like we planned. What more do you want from me?"  
  
Buffy briefly entertained several different 'colorful' responses to that question, but kept her mouth shut at the first rate death glare she was receiving from Cordelia. God, who was the intimidating vampire/former slayer of the two? Looking over at her, she wondered why most people didn't mistake an irate Cordy as the fabled (and former) evil icon.  
  
"And that fat comment was out of line." Buffy mumbled annoyed, after a moment.  
  
Cordelia snorted. "You may be miraculously seven months pregnant with Angelus's child, a fact that I'm willing to sympathize with you on, but the fat comments I won't let up on. I swear to god your kid has a bigger head then both his parents combined. I personally consider that to be a bigger miraculous feat then being the son of two vampires. He's no lightweight sweetie, and neither are you."  
  
Queen C in all her glory, ladies and gentlemen - Buffy thought glaring, but decided to diplomatically ignore it. They could exchange banter later, when they had shelter and food.  
  
Food.  
  
Blood.  
  
Damn, why the hell did she think that? Now she was thirsty. Damn insane pregnancy cravings.  
  
"I guess we walk." Buffy said, mentally forcing herself back on track. Thinking of blood would lead to badness, and that situation was entirely humorless.  
  
"Walk where? As far as the eye can see, it's just dirt and rubble. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm kinda missing our Sunnydale. At least there, we had some living to go along with the dead."  
  
"Don't say that." Buffy snapped, "That place is dead and gone to us and there's no going back. I mean it, Cordelia. This is our new home, like it or not. This is our reality."  
  
"I know, I know." Cordelia replied, just as heatedly. "You don't need to tell me that. I got the message from the Oracles loud and clear. I was there too, remember? Have the commemorative scars, both emotional and physical, to prove it."  
  
Buffy's face softened immediately at the reminder, then welled up with an odd mixture of guilt, sadness, and hope. Guilt and sadness because it was she herself, Buffy Summers, that had wrecked most of that havoc upon Cordy's life, turning it into a mockery of all it had ever really stood for.  
  
Buffy had been a particularly vindictive bitch as a vampire, after all. Sure, she'd been a powerful vampire that had risen to Master status virtually over night, and it came with the territory. But thinking back on it now, knowing and feeling the full extent of what she'd done, it often crippled her with such a pain, she could barely stand. Cordelia had suffered a major brunt of that wrath, having been Angel's other love . . . or potential love, whatever. Point was, Cordelia had seen the worst of her.  
  
And despite that all, Buffy also felt a sense of hope, because Cordy still stood by her after everything.  
  
What twisted fate had thrown Buffy Summers and Cordelia Chase together, she'll never know.  
  
They may always fight. They may always bitch about each other and constantly annoy each other to no end, but they were friends. It was quite possibly the most dysfunctional friendship she ever had, with the exception of Spike, but like Spike, it was a friendship that Buffy had grown to depend on. Despite all the flaws that Cordelia Chase had, Buffy was still thankful for her company.  
  
Suddenly and without warning, she found her eyes welling up with unshed tears, and cursing her damn pregnancy hormones once again, she turned away and blinked them back. No time for crying now. She'd cried enough for a lifetime already.  
  
"We walk to the nearest place we can find with people in it, and then we plead a ride to LA."  
  
Cordelia turned quickly away, but Buffy caught a glimpse of the undiluted apprehension that was etched on her face. LA had almost as much meaning to her as this pile of rubble and ash did to Buffy. She wasn't sure if Cordy was ready enough to face the reality of that city, her true city, after seeing Sunnydale like this. A part of Cordy probably wondered if LA were in ruins, too.  
  
But they had no other choice but to leave. Here, Sunnydale could do nothing for them.  
  
"LA it is," Cordy agreed, softly. "I wonder if the Hyperian is still standing."  
  
"And the mall," Buffy added, jokingly. "I always loved the LA malls. So much bigger and better then Sunnydale's."  
  
"Here here, Sister." Cordy agreed, wholeheartedly.  
  
Ah, shopping. The one thing they could always agree upon.  
  
And, since they had run out of things to say to keep their minds occupied, and they had nothing else to do, they both began the long trudge towards whatever civilization lay ahead of them on this foreign world.  
  
A slayer-turned-vampire burdened into consciousness by the soul of her unborn miracle child, and half demon-half human seer that was burdened by the fact that she'd failed to stop the atrocities the PTB had charged her to prevent. They both walked side by side, in a reality that wasn't their own. But they would make it their own, if it was the last thing they ever did.  
  
Come hell or high water . . . . . .  
  
"So . . . You think this world has shrimp?"  
  
-- 


	2. Hyperion's Gates

Survivors  
  
By: Whistler84  
  
Summery: AU. Seeking sanctuary from a devastated reality, the PTB send a very unique pair to Wolfram and Hart. Who, you ask? . . . Buffy and Cordelia, that's who. Poor Wolfram and Hart.  
  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns all of the BtVS and AtS related characters. I own nothing but the plot, and even that is a major ripoff of Joss's stuff.  
  
Spoilers: All seasons of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. And up to the Smile Time episode in Angel, Season five.  
  
Rated: PG-13 for language.  
  
Quick A/N: English is my second language and I don't have a beta. Sorry about any errors. Please read and review!  
  
Also, a quick thank you to all who reviewed my first chapter. You guys rock, especially Shisena. Your review made me feel all special! Thanks so much for an in-depth review. Its people like you that are the fuel for so many writers. Onto the story . . .  
  
--  
  
It was a few hours later, in the dead of night, that Buffy began to feel feint and hungry.  
  
A major problem for a regular mother-to-be, but times ten-fold for a mother-to-be that was also a vampire. Her child may have provided her with a soul to feel, but it also increased her appetite to astronomical levels. Ironic, if one really thought about, to crave blood more than usual because of something, and then swearing by that same something, to never drink human blood again.  
  
But right now, Buffy didn't find it ironic. Instead she found herself battling a long familiar war with herself. The demon wanted blood, and the human's protest were being drowned out by the damn enticing beating of Cordelia's nearby heart. The demon always had more control over her when her thirst was at it's worst. It grew stronger by every growing second, and Buffy vainly tried to focus on something else. Anything else.  
  
But how could she, with Cordelia's delicious heart so close to her?  
  
The constant beat was enough to drive her mad on normal days; everything her demon wanted and could never have so near and close to her. Blood that seemed to call her name to be taken. It held the life force Buffy needed in the most primitive of ways, and on a normal day, on a good day, it took a herculean amount of effort to deny herself the pleasure of that warmth. Today, however, was not a normal day. She couldn't stop herself from thinking that all it would take for her to feel whole again would be a small delightful piercing to Cordy's jugular, and that warm intoxicating liquid would flow into her mouth and . . .  
  
She stopped and swaggered on her feet, only to be caught by Cordelia's surprisingly strong grip from behind.  
  
"You need to rest."  
  
"We need to keep walking," Buffy snapped, "Or we risk the dawn rising before I make it to shelter. We have no time for rest."  
  
She pulled herself free from Cordy's grip, only to sway on her feet once again. Cordy grabbed her and held her up.

How had Angel ever survived this?  
  
"We have time for a five minute rest." Cordelia responded, calmly as if she didn't have a care in the world.  
  
Buffy eyes narrowed upon the brunette as savage images quickly flashed in her mind, no doubt spurred on by the demon's struggle. _Cordelia, beaten down. Cordelia, bleeding. Cordelia, neck broken . . . Cordelia, dead and dry to the bone_.  
  
It was thoughts like these - deliciously vicious ones that popped up every now and then - that reminded Buffy so clearly that even though her body had a soul, it wasn't hers, but her child's. It could only be so strong. The demon was still very much inside, and right now it was demanding to teach Cordelia fear and the true meaning of pain.  
  
"Sit down." Cordelia said, in the most her most authoritative voice.  
  
_Cordelia mutilated and begging for death_, a demonic voice in her head whispered.  
  
But Cordelia, either unaware or uncaring of the danger she was putting herself in, starred back at Buffy unflinching. "Sit." She repeated.  
  
Buffy forced herself not to stage much of a protest, mainly because she didn't have the strength. She was using all her will power from vamping out and draining Cordelia's dainty little body dry to the bone. So instead she collapsed ungracefully to the ground and cupped her head between her hands, hiding her face from Cordelia. Taking a few unnecessary deep breaths, she fought control over her demon.  
  
She was Buffy Summers, goddamn it, and this was not going to defeat her.  
  
She was better then her demon, she was better then it's thirst. But more importantly, the life that grew inside her body was better then it. Immediately, as if reaching out to life support, Buffy focused on another heartbeat - the one that came not from Cordelia but from her womb. She focused so hard on it and everything that little pounding noise meant, and found herself forgetting instantly about Cordelia.  
  
_Her baby_.  
  
She defied the order of life itself to conceive this child. She had suffered a soul, she had suffered Angelus's wrath, she had suffered the utter desolation of everything she ever loved and cared about because of this child. It was by far the most intimidating test of her strength and will power in all her life, and believe this, she'd been tested plenty before.  
  
So why the hell she loved it so much, she had no idea. Never had she ever believed that she could care about something so much, but she did. It meant more to her that anything else that had come before it in her life. It would mean more then anything else that would come after. She loved it unequivocally and unconditionally. It was, she really thought, the reason she was born. Everything else was just stepping stones. This slayer was destined to be a mother.  
  
So, defying her hunger was nothing in comparison.  
  
"Feeling better?" Cordelia asked.  
  
Buffy's head snapped up, immediately reminded of the fact that she wasn't alone. Silently cursing herself for drifting off of reality so easily, she pushed herself off the ground. She needed to be focused 100% of the time if her child was to live. Just because the Oracles had said this reality would be safe for her, didn't mean she could let down her guard. Such careless actions were unacceptable.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy replied, avoiding eye contact. She felt better, more in control, but the hunger had in no way dissipated. "We should keep moving."  
  
She started moving, but Cordelia suddenly grasped her arm in a firm grip. She was deceivingly strong for such a small women, but then Buffy knew what that was like. It probably also helped that Cordy was half-demon.  
  
"What?" Buffy asked, forced to look back at her.  
  
"You're thirsty." Cordelia stated. "Don't try to hide that from me."  
  
"I'm not," Buffy immediately denied, although she knew it to be a lie.  
  
Even though Cordelia was well capable of handling a vampire's craving - after all, she'd spent years with Angel as a loyal friend and confidant, maybe even something more (and not to mention Buffy's vague speculations on Cordelia's relationship with Spike) - but allowing Cordelia to see that demonic side of her in such full force was like a slap in the face to Buffy. It was adding insult to injury. Buffy had lost enough self-respect over the last couple of months, she wasn't going to lose more now.  
  
Cordelia raised her eyebrow, "You're eyes are glazed, sweetheart. You can barely look at me, and I really didn't think it was possible, but you look even paler than normal. I'm not blonde, I know what all that adds up to."  
  
Buffy ignored the blonde comment. "Cordelia, just let it go. There's nothing we can do about it, unless you willing to split open a vein here and there. So — "  
  
"I am." Cordelia interrupted.  
  
Buffy stopped short, positive she heard Cordelia wrong. She had to be sarcastic, right? If she was, Cordelia's humor was even more sharp-tonged than usual.  
  
But it seemed, Cordelia was perfectly serious. "You need blood. I know what your cravings are like lately, and if you don't get blood into you now, you'll be no good to walk. What happens if feint on me with the sunrise so close? What would happen then? I carry you across to the nearest town? As if! . . . No, I'll probably be forced to watch you burst into flames. I don't . . . that's not going to happen. So, you need blood. Don't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that brain teaser."  
  
She said it so calmly and matter-of-factly that at another time, Buffy might have laughed at Cordelia's trademark flippancy. But right now, there was no humor in the situation.  
  
"You have to be kidding me."

"I'm not." Cordelia countered. "I didn't come all this way, go through so much, to fail now. You're my responsibility Buffy, the PTB were very adamant about that . . . But more importantly, you're also my friend . . . So quit standing there with your mouth hanging open like the village idiot, and let's get this over with. I don't like the idea either, you know. But we don't have a choice."  
  
Buffy stood there silent, too surprised to say anything.  
  
After a minute, Cordelia sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh for God's sake, you're worse than Angel sometimes."  
  
The mention of her former lover brought Buffy back to reality in full force.  
  
"No," Buffy replied, adamantly. "It's a bad idea. In fact, it such a bad idea that it should have an honorary place in the Hall of Fame of Bad Ideas. Are you insane? Do you even know what your suggesting?"  
  
"Gee gosh, no. I'm totally clueless to the affects of vampire bites. Cause, you know, I've lived a sheltered and carefree existence my entire life--"  
  
"Cordelia, you don't--"  
  
"Look, I'm not saying you have to bleed me dry. Breathing tends to grow on a person, as I'm sure you can recall. But you need blood right now and I have it."  
  
"So what? I nibble a little at your neck and all's fine. Did you leave your common sense back home or something? What delusion are you living?"  
  
"We cut a small slash," Cordelia responded, annoyed, "say on my forearm, and you drink until you think you've gotten enough to make it through tonight. Nothing life draining. That way, we can make it to tomorrow with no deaths involved for either one of us. A good goal, if you ask me."  
  
"You have too much confidence in my level of self-control."  
  
She sighed, "Maybe I do, but I'm not completely defenseless, you know. Hello! Half demon. I know how to stop you if you get too greedy."  
  
"No, you don't." Buffy countered.  
  
She didn't want to sound arrogant, but if she wanted, Cordelia would have been dead a thousand times over. She was damn good as a slayer all those years ago. When she got vamped, she'd learned to hone killing into an art form. But now that she was pregnant on top of everything, her strength and skill were unparalleled. Something about the supernatural pregnancy had made her unbelievably powerful. More powerful than Angelus, proven by the fact that despite everything he'd done, she was still alive.  
  
Cordelia had no chance against a blood-drunk Buffy.  
  
Cordelia moved away, looking out into the horizon without a single visible landmark save the dirt road they were following. Buffy could sense the tension in her shoulders and the irritation and frustration radiating off her in spades, but she didn't say anything. She knew that Cordy could be stubborn like a bull when she wanted to be. She needed to figure out the wrongness of her suggestion all on her own.  
  
"Fine," Cordelia finally responded, "But my offer's still good, if you need it later tonight. I mean it Buffy, don't let pride get you killed."  
  
"Pride is one of the few things keeping me alive." Buffy replied, softly. "I wouldn't like to go on knowing that I did something like that to you. Not when I don't have the 'soulless' excuse anyway."  
  
"Oh, please. Someday, when we look back on this . . ." She paused, then winched. "We'll probably laugh nervously and end up changing the subject."  
  
Buffy snorted, then looked over and managed to catch Cordelia's wandering eye, holding it in an intense gaze. "Thanks, though. You know, for volunteering. Not a lot of people would do that, and that just reinforces how lucky I am to have you."  
  
"Damn straight, you are."  
  
Buffy smiled, "I mean it, Cordy. I don't know why you're here, after everything, but thank you."  
  
"Buffy, you don't have to keep thanking me. You do that far too often lately, and it freaks me out."  
  
"Sorry." Buffy responded.

"And you don't have to apologize either."  
  
"Thanks," Buffy replied, then flinched. "Sorry." Another flinch.  
  
Cordelia sighed, but instead of turning away muttering about the crazy vampires in her life like Buffy expected, she just stared back at her for a moment. Buffy watched surprised as, for no apparent reason, Cordelia's eyes misted over with unshed tears. Cordelia had never once cried in front of her, a fact that Buffy admired, especially with her own hormones so out of wack. Still, it must have been awfully lonely and tiring to keep up that tough exterior so often. Buffy wanted to help, offer a shoulder to cry on maybe? But every time there was a chance at that happening, Cordelia shut off completely. This time was no different. Cordelia suddenly blinked and the moment passed in silence. Eventually, she shrugged and forced a bright carefree smile onto her face.  
  
"What can I say? I'm a saint." She dead panned.  
  
Buffy snorted in amusement, earning an exaggerated glare from Cordelia. The words saint and Cordelia should never be in the same sentence.  
  
"We should start walking again."  
  
"I have a better idea."  
  
"What genius idea now?" Buffy asked sarcastically, turning back to look at Cordelia. "You planning on offering me a piggyback ride now? We wouldn't want me to feint from exhaustion, you know."  
  
Cordelia's face turned comically horrified. "No thank you, mommy dearest. I'd much rather hitch a ride with that truck coming up the road."  
  
"What?" Buffy asked, turning around to look where Cordy was pointing. Sure enough, a pickup truck was slowly making it's way down the dirt road, headed strait for them. It was a pretty sad statement, but that beat up pickup truck was the most beautiful thing Buffy had seen now in a while.  
  
--  
  
Cordelia watched the familiar scenery of LA flash by her side window with growing apprehension and fear. It looked so familiar; it had the same buildings, the same streets, the same big city bustling of nightlife. Yet underneath it, almost like she could feel the city's aura fill her senses and block out the familiarity of those sights and sounds, she could tell there was something different, something alien, to the entire city. This place was different from her home. How and why, she had no idea. She was simply positive that it was.  
  
Sunnydale was completely gone, and LA was obscurely different. If this was really a good thing or bad, she didn't know. All she could think about were the ramifications of those differences. What type of world had the PTB sent them to?  
  
"This your stop?" The pickup driver asked them, pointing towards the corner street.  
  
Cordelia turned and spotted the all night butcher shop Angel use to use. They'd first pick up some blood for Buffy, hit the McDonalds a block away for Cordelia's food, then turn south and walk another two blocks for their final destination.  
  
The Hyperion.  
  
"Yeah, that's it." Buffy answered, turning to give Cordelia a furtive glance. She'd expected Cordelia to answer, seeing as this was her town, but Cordelia was too wrapped up in her own world to even think to respond.  
  
The Hyperion . . . Home.  
  
Buffy thanked the driver profusely, and then gently but not subtly nudged Cordelia out of the truck. Once they were out on the street corner, Buffy turned to politely wave goodbye to the pickup truck driver. Cordelia half-heartedly followed her example.  
  
After the truck was out of sight, Buffy pinned Cordelia with a look of obvious concern. It was still weird to see that look on Buffy's face when it was regarding her.  
  
She knew she'd been entirely too quiet the entire ride over, and that Buffy was beginning to get worried. For the last forty minutes, she let Buffy handle all of the curious questions the driver had on why there would be two women, one of them pregnant, wandering around in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night. Truthfully, Cordy hadn't paid much attention to anything Buffy had said as their cover, but she trusted her to come up with a plausible enough storyline.  
  
She just hoped Buffy wouldn't expect any sort of explanation about her unusual bout of silence.  
  
"You alright?" Buffy questioned. "You kinda seem out of it."

"Yeah," Cordelia replied, and started walking towards the Butcher shop. "Just peachy with a side of keen."  
  
Buffy caught up with her, "Hey, I thought I was the one that was suppose to be grumpy. I am the one that's dying of blood thirst here . . . Well, not dying really, cause with me the death factor has kinda come and gone and repeated itself several times for fun, but . . ."  
  
There was an awkward pause that followed where Cordy could tell Buffy was trying to think of the right thing to say. Buffy had a lot of problems doing the whole comforting thing lately, considering a good portion of her was still a cold-blooded killer, but Cordy gave her a small amount of credit for trying. A very small amount. Still, she continued to walk towards the Butcher shop as if there wasn't an awkward attempt of conversation going on.  
  
She really didn't want to talk right now, but when she turned to voice that opinion, she caught sight of Buffy's new target. It seemed that's Buffy's eyes had snapped forward and locked onto the open door of the Butcher shop, and the sight of a butcher with a blood soaked apron on.  
  
For a scary second, Cordelia thought she would have to try and physically restrain the vampire from jumping the butcher right then and there, a thought that was _less_ than pleasing. Buffy had that possessed look in her eyes, the one Cordelia had seen so many times directed towards herself, when Buffy was losing control.  
  
It never failed to scare the _hell_ out of her.  
  
But then, seemingly without a preamble, Buffy blinked and walked ahead, going through the door with an air of calm and poise. Cordelia breathed a deep sigh of relief, and then walked in after her. Ten minutes later, they were out the door and Buffy didn't even keep up the pretense anymore. She ripped open bag after bag of blood and gulped it down in a fashion that made Cordelia loose her own appetite.  
  
Damn, and she had so been looking forward to a Big Mac meal.  
  
After she was done drinking, Buffy cleared her throat and wiped her mouth clean, then glanced at Cordelia with a look of embarrassment.  
  
Cordelia snorted, "You're going to turn all self-conscious on me now? You still have a trail of blood under your lip."  
  
Buffy quickly wiped at it, then smiled weakly. "Sorry," She mumbled. For what she was precisely apologizing for, Cordelia didn't know and didn't ask. That list was too long.

"C'mon, let's head to the Hyperion."  
  
"What about your food?"  
  
"I'm good." Cordelia replied, casually.  
  
She didn't want Buffy to feel guilty over her loss of apatite, but Cordelia chanced that because right now, she couldn't force herself to eat anything for fear of becoming violently ill immediately afterwards. You'd think, that after all these years of being surrounded by vampires, mainly Angel, then to a certain extent Spike, and now finally Buffy, she'd have gotten use to seeing vampires drink blood.  
  
But no such luck. It was still pretty high on the ick scale. She'd usually been able to keep her wiggin's to a minium, but right now she didn't have the strength for pretense either.  
  
"You sure?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Yeah." Cordelia replied, "Let's just get to Hyperion and then . . ."  
  
She trailed off. She had no idea what would come after that. How different was this reality? Would there even be a Hyperion? Would Angel be there, soul and all? Wesley, Fred, Lorne, and Gunn? Would this world's Cordelia be there? . . .Or would there simply be dusts and rodents of an abandoned building?  
  
The questions just kept adding on the more she thought about it.  
  
Angel Investigations might not exist here. Hell, Angel might not even exist here. And while, the thought of a world without Angelus was alluring, it still cut her heart deeply to think of world devoid of the presence of Angel.  
  
Buffy seemed to read her thoughts and gently reached up to place a comforting hand on her shoulders. Perhaps, Buffy was the only person she'd ever come across that knew her thoughts all too well.  
  
Cordelia Chase and Buffy Summers, two women who couldn't be more different. Yet at the core, they both had a lot of similarities. It was kinda chilling to think that a one-time cold blooded killer felt that same way you did . . . And strangely enough, calming too.

"We'll get through this." She said, in a tone that had more confidence than Cordelia knew she had. "We'll get through this together. Whatever happens, I've got your back."  
  
Cordelia smirked, "I thought I was the one that was suppose to have your back."  
  
Buffy paused, then smiled. "We'll both have each other's back."  
  
"And how will we manage that unique contortion?"  
  
"With practice." She replied, easily. "Now let's start walking. The sun rises in less then an hour, and I don't know about you, but bursting into flames would be a _really_ sucky way to end this night."  
  
Cordelia nodded, and took a deep breath.  
  
Home, here we come.  
  
A little time later, she stopped at the footsteps of her destination, gazing up at the sight with unabashed sadness. The gates of Hyperion were closed tight with steel chains fastened with an intimidating size lock. The moment Cordelia saw that, hope began to sink at lightening speed. The Hyperion was abandoned.  
  
Angel Investigations isn't here. It probably never was.  
  
"C'mon," Buffy urged, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward. "We should at least check inside."  
  
"For what? Dust bunnies?" Cordelia snapped, "I've seen this sight before, you know. If our luck continues at this rate, that paranoia demon is probably still inside waiting for a two-course meal. There's no point in going in. Angel probably never even stepped foot in that place."  
  
"Yes, there is." Buffy replied, pulling her up to the gate. She pointed towards the steel chains and lock. "Does that look fifty years old to you? Cause to me, not so much."  
  
Cordelia stared at the chains, silently admitting that they did look fairly new and shiny, but she refused to get her hopes up. She should have known better in the first place than to get her hopes up. She pulled her hand free and glared at Buffy. She thought they'd already hit rock bottom, but apparently there was rock bottom, 50 feet of crap, and then them.

"So what, it's got new chains. This place nearly has a condemned signpost on it, Buffy. They're not in there."  
  
"You're actually going to stop two feet away from your goal? It's right there, we should at least check it out."  
  
"No, we shouldn't. It's about as pointless as the wrong end of a stake, Buffy. Let's just go."  
  
Cordelia started walking away when Buffy brazenly yelled behind her, "Since when did you become such a coward, Cordelia Chase?"  
  
Cordelia stopped dead in her tracks.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
No one called her a coward.  
  
"You heard me." Buffy replied.  
  
"Yeah, I heard you." She replied, turning around to pin her with a glare. "I'm just standing in awe of your sheer nerve . . . Although why, I honestly have no idea. I should have seen this was coming."  
  
"What's that suppose to mean?"  
  
"Please, you always thought you were Miss High and Mighty and everybody else was second best. You're use to that, aren't you? Well, I've got _ancient_ news for you missy. Cordelia Chase is second best to nobody. I thought you knew that already. I am not a coward . . . . A coward wouldn't have gone after Angelus to save your ass! And you have the nerve to stand there and call me a coward?"  
  
"Yes." Buffy replied, brazenly. "Because what you're afraid of isn't monsters that go bump in the night, Cordelia. You're afraid of something else, something that I do reign supreme on. The past, and all the guilt-ridden drama that comes with it."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Cordelia replied. "I not the one with the homicidal past. That's you. I don't have anything to be sorry for. I didn't do anything wrong."  
  
A blatant lie, but Buffy didn't know that. Which was why, when Buffy looked her in the eyes with an equally sympathetic and haunted look in them, it was more then a little unnerving.  
  
"You survived."  
  
Cordelia suddenly felt a cold shiver go through her, but she hoped Buffy didn't notice. "What?"  
  
"Out of everybody we ever knew; you, me, and Angelus are the only ones left standing. It's not the best of company to be in, I know. But everybody else is dead. Everybody that we really cared about. Xander, Willow, Dawn. That Texan girl named Fred and her boyfriend Gunn. Wes and Giles. Spike. They're all dead, and you survived."  
  
Cordelia turned away, unable to stop her eyes from watering.  
  
"You watched them die, and now here you are, getting a second chance. A chance that no one else got. You can't help but think you don't deserve it . . . Trust me, I know how that feels."  
  
"You don't know a thing about me." Cordelia retorted, in a cold harsh tone. Her eyes were still too watery, though. "We are nothing alike. In fact, if you and I were the only people on the face of this earth, that would be the only thing we'd have in common."  
  
"Then deny what I'm saying." Buffy asked. "Tell me I'm way off base. Tell me that this is like the time I thought you and Spike were sleeping with each other . . . . That I'm so wrong, that what's right is a little itty-bitty dot way back on the horizon."  
  
Cordelia turned to face her, but found her voice suddenly gone. She hated herself a just a little more for weakness when she felt the first tear escape and trail down her cheek. She hated letting others see her cry.  
  
"Are those tears of anger, or tears of guilt?" Buffy questioned, softly.  
  
Cordelia couldn't answer. She couldn't stand there and say that she hadn't woken up every night for the last six months and wondered why she was still alive. Why she was the only one still alive? That the PTB had placed a burden upon her that she couldn't handle, and with each passing day, she's learned the true gravity of a death wish.  
  
But she was _done_ with wishing, for certain.  
  
All she could do is wake up each day and wonder if it would be her last? That if it was, would it really be so terrible?  
  
"You don't want to walk through those doors because to you, that's a doorway to your past. To everything you've lost. I know because I felt the same way in Sunnydale, except I actually deserved that guilt. You don't though, Cordelia. There's nothing wrong that you did."  
  
Cordelia turned away and felt a swell of guilt add onto her pain. If only she knew the real truth, Buffy would know just how much of the guilt was really Cordelia's share. But she didn't know, and Cordelia wasn't going to tell her. Ever, if she could pull it off.  
  
That secret Wish would stay hidden with Cordelia for eternity. And then some.  
  
Buffy turned to break the lock quickly with ease. She pushed open the gates and stepped inside. She rounded back to look at Cordelia, even as the sun's first rays crept up upon the city. With a hand cradling the large brass bars, she stood beside the gates of Hyperion with a look of remorse.

"The sun's rising. I have no choice but to enter. You do, though . . . I know what a victim looks like, Cordelia. I've seen their eyes in pain and misery. And I've seen your eyes. Don't let them stay like that forever, because all it will end in is a life of suffering and darkness . . ."  
  
Cordelia silently wondered how that would be different from the life they were leading now.  
  
"You're stronger then that. There's a reason you survived, and it had nothing to do with your keen fashion sense . . . You're a survivor Cordelia, whether you like it or not. Just like me . . . Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to stop this pep-talk before I start speaking inversely like Yoda. Words of wisdom aren't my thing." She smiled, slightly. "I'm going in. Hopefully, I'll see you inside."  
  
Cordelia watched her disappear behind the hotel's front doors, a sharp retort poised on her lips. But as she looked up at the familiar building, a sinking feeling set inside her stomach and Cordelia hated to admit it, but it did feel an awful lot like fear.  
  
This wasn't her home, but it felt like it. This wasn't the last hope she had for this world, but it suddenly felt like it. This was her sanctuary, abandoned or not. And once again, she was going to be the only one there.  
  
With a deep breath, she stepped through the gates and passed the Hotel's threshold just as the first rays of the sun covered Los Angelus and the place she'd come to call home. She was greeted by the sight she was expecting. The hotel was abandoned.  
  
But . . .  
  
It looked different from the last time. It looked better maintained and not like the crumbling mass of dust covered, rat infested, smelly old, creepy hotel-ish like structure she remembered. It was different, almost like someone had been here recently. This hotel had seen life since the fifties.  
  
Some one had lived here . . .  
  
But they weren't here now.  
  
She sighed and glanced towards Buffy. She was also caught up in a daze, but Cordelia guessed for entirely different reasons than nostalgia. This was the place Angelus had tortured her for days, and now here she was, standing calmly as ever. The Hyperion was not a sanctuary to her, and yet . . . In a slight sense of morbid realization, Cordelia wondered if those nights had even been a big notch on her pain-o-meter, or had Buffy just been through so much that it was nothing more than a small bump in the road.  
  
A thing easily forgotten, that you were tortured by your lover.  
  
Cordelia winced as she realized it wasn't the first time that had happened to Buffy. Angelus had loved to torture her back in high school, too. Although that had been mainly the mental variety. But Buffy had come a long way from the heartbroken 17 year old girl she once was, Cordelia thought with a twinge of admiration. Buffy hadn't once faltered in her journey here.

You can say all you want about her fashion sense, her horrible track record with guys, her annoying aura of authority, and so many other things too many to list, but in a fight for the world, Cordelia could really only think of one other person . . . vampire . . . that she would want on her side more. And in her world, that was one hell of a compliment.  
  
Not that she'd ever voice that to Buffy, or anything. It could be taken as a symbol of admiration.  
  
"Weird, huh?" Cordelia said, purposely softening her voice. It felt strange standing in the Hyperion after so long.  
  
"When was the last time something wasn't weird?" Buffy responded, quietly. She looked over at her. "How you doing?"  
  
Cordelia shrugged. "Managing."  
  
Buffy paused, eyeing her carefully.  
  
Cordelia sighed. She didn't need to mothered. "I made it this far, Buffy. I'm not going to crumble now at the sight of the Hyperion."  
  
Buffy nodded, "Good . . . Does that mean you're going to stop starring at it like it killed your puppy?"  
  
Cordelia turned to glare at her, but didn't comment.  
  
"You should get some rest," Buffy replied, ignoring the glare like she always did. It was like second nature to both of them by now. "We both should. I don't know how long we can stay here, but we should relax while we can."  
  
"What about the paranoia demon? It might still be here."  
  
Buffy shook her head, "It won't bother a vampire and a half-demon. Not if it knows what's good for it."  
  
"You sure seem confident about that."  
  
Buffy smiled, bitterly. "I know how a demon thinks, remember?"  
  
"And what am I, chopped liver?" Cordelia quipped. "Half-demon here, or don't you remember?"  
  
"It's not the same thing," Buffy responded, "and before you get all outraged on me, that's a good thing. As in I-can-still-walk-in-sunshine kind of good."  
  
Cordelia nodded, and let it go. "So the plan right now is . . . sleep. Not the most constructive of plans, but I can't say I complain. I think the last time I had a good nap, Britney Spears was still considered innocent."  
  
"Consider yourself lucky." Buffy muttered, smirking. "For me, its in the age of when _Michael Jackson_ was considered innocent."  
  
"Ouch."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Cordelia's hand glided over the lobby counter, vaguely remembering all the times she'd stood in this room. Through vampires and demons and battles for survival, it was still her sanctuary. A sense of calm washed over her with the thought, but when she looked back at Buffy, the calmness disappeared again.

"You think you can manage to sleep here, after . . . you know?"  
  
It seemed too crude to actually say "after you were nearly tortured to death." Cordelia had learned the fine art of tact over the years, after all.  
  
"I can try." Buffy replied, turning to walk up the grand staircase. "At sunset, we hit the local demon bars. Get the skinny on what's up."  
  
"You're looking for Angelus, aren't you?" Cordelia asked. "You're afraid he's here."  
  
Buffy stopped midway up the stairs, "The Oracles said he wasn't here, but I just want to make sure. Besides we might find out a thing or two about Angel, too."  
  
"What if . . ." Cordelia began, then immediately stopped. Best not to play the 'what if' game.  
  
"What?" Buffy questioned.  
  
Cordelia shook her head, "Nothing. Just get some sleep." She paused, and then surprised herself and Buffy when she added, "Angel's room was on the second floor. Take a right, last door. It's probably nothing more than cobwebs and broken furniture here, but I thought you'd like to know."  
  
She knew Buffy still took comfort in anything that reminded her of Angel, despite everything that had happened. That was their way; morbidly romantic. Cordelia had long ago learned to just let it go like that. It was best not to think of it too much. She still had a lot scarred wounds, and too much deliberation on the freaky love life of Buffy and the man she once thought she loved with all her heart, well . . . it made her want to scream at times. And cry, too.  
  
Still, she occasionally couldn't help but wonder, and when she did, she wondered if Buffy still took comfort in Angelus as well? After all, the demon was still inside her. It probably demanded her lover Angelus just as much as the human side of Buffy demanded Angel. It was just convenient that those two shared one body.  
  
Morbid, indeed.  
  
God, Cordelia thought with a small pang of jealousy she'd die before admitting to; no matter what, the freak show of the Buffy-Angel saga never ended.  
  
"I know." Buffy replied amused, as if sensing Cordelia's thoughts. She smiled a tight smile, acknowledging the effort it must have taken for Cordelia to say those words. It was a small admission, not matter how belatedly, that Cordelia was beginning to recover from near love and loss of Angel.  
  
Angel was the first man she'd truly ever loved. Xander Harris, as great as it had been while it lasted and as heartbreaking as it had been when it was over, was never really long lasting material. Angel was the first man who had that chance, that promise of everlasting love. And because of Buffy, both the human and vampire version of her, all it ever remained was a promise. An unfulfilled promise.  
  
Cordelia may never forgive Buffy for that, but she'd learned to move on. Some things weren't meant to be. She realized that now. Besides, if there was anyone to blame for the way things turned out, it was Cordelia.  
  
Cordelia and her _damned_ wish.  
  
And like always, when she thought of that wish, it brought on a wave of guilt, followed by a surge of denial.  
  
Don't think about it. Not now.  
  
Cordelia sighed, and watched Buffy walk up the stairs. Thank God nobody knew about Anyanka.  
  
--  
  
"Oh sweet Satin," Peter Decker muttered, looking at the surveillance footage of the Hyperion that was patched into Wolfram and Hart's security. "Is that Cordelia Chase, the boss's dead squeeze?"  
  
"The Facial Recognition Program nailed it as her." Replied Andrew Harding, a security guard of Wolfram and Hart.  
  
Peter looked up at him, and was once again distracted as he was every time he spoke to Andrew. He couldn't help but glance up at the hideous comb-over job on top of the man's head. It looked as if Andrew had wrapped three pieces of hair around and around, creating an outrageous little turban that looked more hideous then some of the demons walking around here. He kept his opinion to himself, though. Andrew was a valuable employee.  
  
"And get this," Andrew continued, "the blonde that you saw just go up the stairs was identified as Buffy Summers. You know, the Slayer that . . ."  
  
"I know who Buffy Summers is." Peter snapped. "Everybody here knows who she is, but when the hell did she get pregnant?"  
  
"I don't know," Andrew replied, "But as soon as the boys down at Surveillance picked up this footage, I brought it to you. It's only an hour old."  
  
"They're still there?"  
  
"Yeah," Andrew replied, "Sleeping."  
  
"This is unbelievable."  
  
"No kidding. You have any idea what's going on?"  
  
Peter looked up, "This is obviously some sort of trap. Some shape-shifting demons, maybe? Pretty ingenious, if you think about it. I mean, what better way than to mess with the CEO of Wolfram and Hart than to imitate his two former flames."  
  
"Not very bright, though." Andrew replied. "He's not going to believe it's them. He personally buried one of them into the ground not three weeks ago. And the other is in Rome, doing her own goodie-two-shoes thing. All it will do is piss him off."  
  
Peter smiled, a glint coming into his eyes. "Which is why we won't bother him with this until we have both of them dead or in our custody. He'll be so thankful, I can practically see the pay raise from here."  
  
"You don't think he'd want to know about this immediately?"  
  
"He's got enough to worry about." Peter replied. "I mean, did you see him two days ago? He was a friggin' puppet. That's gotta take some time to get over. So we'll deal with this, and when things are in order, we'll give him the news of our success."  
  
"Are you sure? This boss doesn't exactly think the way our old bosses did."  
  
"Yes, but all bosses like initiative in their workers. He won't have to deal with stress of two demons impersonating his old lovers if they're already dead, right? He'll be thankful."  
  
"Alright, if you say so. You're the boss."  
  
"That I am, and if this plays out right, I won't just be the boss of the Surveillance Division, but of the whole Espionage Sector. And I'll keep in mind your actions in this, as well. I'll be needing someone to take my old job, after all. Imagine the pay raise."  
  
Andrew grinned. "How do you want to handle this?"  
  
"Have a Field Team ready in fifteen minutes. I want them, dead or alive, within the hour. No screw ups. Get them here."  
  
"Team of seven?"  
  
"Make it ten, fully armed."  
  
"Isn't that a bit of an overkill? . . . no pun intended, of course."  
  
"Casualties are acceptable, Andrew, but I want those girls one way or another."  
  
"Consider it done."  
  
--


	3. Demon 411

A/N - Thank you all to those who reviewed, with the exception of Allastor. Wow. Two chapters and I'm already getting flames. Not very constructive ones at that, but are they ever?

Allastor: To address your review, which I probably shouldn't even dignify with a response, if you have such a problem with Cordelia and Buffy, then why are you reading a fanfic that so clearly (it's written in the summery, for Pete's sake!) has them as the main characters. Read something else and dazzle those authors with your lame reviews.  
  
To the rest: you guys are fantastic. I'm going to assume that the majority liked my story so far. That's enough to keep me writing, although I will admit, that flame got me in a pissy mode for a second.  
  
Anyway, when I was reviewing my earlier post, I realized I hadn't put up what ships are in this story. Sorry! That's a really stupid mistake, which I will fix right now. As I'm sure you can tell, this is B/A.  
  
But don't worry Cordelia fans, I'm one too! I love both Buffy and Cordelia for their own strengths and weaknesses, and I'm not going to do any character bashing in this story. There will be a ship with Cordelia, although I'm keeping that under wraps until further notice. I'm sure though, it'll become fairly obvious in the next couple of chapters who she'll end up with.  
  
As always, please review!  
  
-  
  
Buffy laid down on the king sized bed, trying and spectacularly failing to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, emotions leftover from the last time she was here - or technically speaking, the last time she was in her reality's Hyperion - coursed through her body.  
  
Blood. Pain. Misery. Fear.  
  
But fear most of all. She'd never felt that much undiluted fear in her life.  
  
Angelus had her bound and gaged for three days here, right in this very room, expressing his anger and frustration at her new soul-having ways physically. To say he had been furious would be like saying Giles, on occasion, liked to read books. It was an understatement. Angelus had been furious, and it was the first time she'd ever really seen him as such. Any other time, he was always the pure definition of calm and cool. She remembered always admiring that sadistically poised behavior as a demon. She also remembered fearing it as a human.  
  
But nothing scared her more then seeing him angry. There was always a glint in his eyes that seemed to spark with anger, but for the first time in those soulless depths, she'd seen true wrath. True undiluted evil. He hated what she'd become. What she'd taken away from him. And he despised what she reminded him of. He left no pretext of poise to hold him back.  
  
She remembered once, recovering from a particularly brutal blow, smirking and commenting that she had no idea she held such power over him. To make a master vampire lose control of himself. It made her feel all special-like.  
  
He responded by stabbing her through the stomach with a sword, and muttering something she couldn't quiet hear.  
  
Special was not the word that came to mind, after that.  
  
But the worst wasn't the violence. Yes, there was lots and lots of pain. Lots of scars hidden by her healing. Lots of screaming involved. But that wasn't what really haunted Buffy afterwards. No, Angelus's true gift in torture weren't his physical assaults, although those were well-honed, they were his verbal ones. He knew her the way no one else ever had, and he knew how to destroy her in ways no one else had ever even imagined.  
  
He put those gifts of his to good use.  
  
It took him no less then three days, just three days, to nearly shatter her completely. By the end of it, she was incoherent and drifting in and out of consciousness, barely holding onto enough willpower to never plead for death. That was of course, when Angelus played his best hand.  
  
He began to seduce her.  
  
Blood. Pleasure. Euphoria. Love.  
  
The one thing that was always constant between them, slayer or vampire, Angel or Angelus, was that they were always lovers. She still craved his touch like blood, and even after a torturous round at Angelus's hand, there was no exception.  
  
Back in her soul-free days, she would have even called that foreplay.  
  
It wasn't until afterwards, that she knew without any inkling of doubt, given enough time of this particular brand of attention, she'd break completely. It was just the question of how long before this beautiful form of hell would crush her down unto ruin, tortured by love. She considered it no less then both a miracle and a curse when Cordelia finally broke in and saved her.  
  
But ever since then, she'd been caught in a limbo of pain and pleasure. Perfectly symbolized by this room, or one virtually indifferent from it. It held memories of every scream, shouted in both pleasure and pain. It held the very essence of her twisted relationship with Angelus. The fact that she still chose to stay in this room, pretended to sleep in it, took an odd mixture of comfort and fear from it, symbolized everything wrong with her.  
  
No matter what, she still loved Angelus. Angel. Any and all forms of him, she wanted, loved, hated, feared . . . Needed.  
  
Damn him.  
  
And damn her for loving him.  
  
Suddenly, the sound of Cordelia's abrupt scream from downstairs shattered any thoughts in Buffy's head. Before she knew it, she was on her feet brandishing a small dagger from her waistband. Buffy listened, her extra sensitive hearing straining to hear more. But there was nothing to hear. Cordelia's scream had been silenced, and Buffy was willing to bet odds that was a bad thing.  
  
With a feral grace she shouldn't have possessed at seven months pregnant, Buffy rushed out the door and down the grand staircase. She was greeted by the sight of several men wearing ski masks and black fatigues, variously armed with both automatic rifles and traditional swords.  
  
They fired at her, and missed entirely.  
  
She had no time to feel surprise or horror, instead she did what came naturally. She attacked them. She dispatched them with ease borne from instinct and experience, not breaking her stride in order to reach Cordelia. When she reached the bottom of the steps, her eyes immediately tracked Cordelia's prone body on the floor, two other men standing over her. They quickly looked up and raised their guns her way.  
  
She smiled, "Those won't kill me."  
  
"They'll hurt like hell." One of them responded, then pulled the trigger. A wave of bullets brushed by her as she dodged them with supernatural speed. She leaped across the room and rolled gracefully onto the ground, covered from their gunfire by the oddly shaped couch in the center of the lobby.  
  
"Missed me!" Buffy taunted.  
  
"Come with us calmly, and we won't hurt you."  
  
"How about you leave and I don't kill you?" Buffy retorted, only half- joking.  
  
They may be human and therefore, categorically speaking, on the do-not-kill column, but Buffy was having a whole lot of difficulty justifying that to herself right now. These bastards wanted to kill her. Wanted to kill Cordelia. Wanted to kill her unborn child. The demon side of her became a bit more difficult to handle when Buffy was damn near blinded with anger.  
  
One of the men laughed, "Lady, we do this for a living. We've faced tougher and uglier things then you. Do yourself a favor. Come quietly and calmly, and maybe you'll live."  
  
She heard other footsteps, and knew the odds against her had grown. There were at least half a dozen men in the room now, all moving to gain a better position of attack.  
  
"Who are you?" She asked, buying time to formulate a plan.  
  
"Well, my name is Joe Bradley, thanks for asking. We work for Wolfram and Hart."  
  
"Wolfram and Hart? Evil law firm, Wolfram and Hart?" Buffy asked.  
  
Damn, Angelus had told her all about them. They had been the proverbial pain in the ass to Angel back before she'd been turned. They had connections and a lot of influence in the underworld. A lot of power, too.  
  
"That's us," Joe said, dryly.  
  
Buffy abruptly jumped up and tackled one of the armed men closest to her, bringing him up to her as a shield. She did it so swiftly that the men barely had time to raise their guns towards her. Paranormal pregnancy came with some benefits, Buffy thought sardonically, and the quicker-then-eye reflexes almost made up for the morning sickness.  
  
While she backed herself into a corner, she counted six men spread out throughout the lobby. She glanced at Cordelia's body last. She was still laying motionless.  
  
"You better hope she's alive." She warned, bringing her dagger close to her hostage's neck.  
  
"She is," Joe replied calmly from across the room. "Out like a light, but fine. If you do anything to harm that man though, we won't be able to say the same for you."  
  
"Then you better listen to what I have to say." Buffy countered. "Or else his dead body will hit the floor."  
  
"You'll be dead, too."  
  
"Joe, that's no longer an issue for me."  
  
"Well . . . alright then, relax." He shifted, "So, you seem to know my name, what's yours?"  
  
"Don't you know that already?"  
  
"We identified you as Buffy Summers, but that's not possible. Our sources have her currently in Italy."  
  
Italy? She tucked in that little tidbit of information for later and grinned, "What can I say? I've been doing the impossible everyday since I was fifteen. Now put down your weapons."  
  
"Sorry, but no can do." Joe replied.  
  
"Don't try and be a hero, Joe. It's an insult to those of us who are." Buffy countered, "We can all get out of this alive if you play it smart. I don't want any blood on my hands, but that doesn't mean I won't do it."  
  
He paused, tilting his head as if assessing her. "You really willing to kill him?"  
  
Buffy didn't pause. "Yes."  
  
The man in her arms shuddered a bit. "Boss, please."  
  
"Pity. I always liked him." Joe said, sighing. Then without warning, he raised his gun and shot the man in Buffy's arms three times, square in the chest. He bleed and dropped to the floor dead.  
  
"Take her boys." Joe ordered, emotionless.  
  
Once again, Buffy reacted on instinct. She launched an attack on the three closest to her, kicking high to knock one of the guns away and grabbing another man in order to use as a shield. The guy looked like a body-builder complete with a tree-trunk neck, but despite his strength, she pulled him easily in front of her, using his massive size to her advantage. She grabbed the gun in his hands, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. He sprayed a volley of bullets that connected with the other two men, hitting them hard and killing them instantly.  
  
She didn't feel a twinge of guilt.  
  
She pulled free and punched the behemoth man clear across the expanse of the lobby, knocking into and dragging down a fourth man. She estimated with a twinge of giddiness, he cleared over 25 feet. She was getting stronger every day.  
  
Unexpectedly, probably because she wasted too much time on patting herself on the back, she was grabbed from behind and heard a swish of an arrow gliding through air headed straight for her heart. She turned, saw the arrow, and shifted her body. The arrow connected with her shoulder, sending a blistering course of pain throughout her entire left side, more painful than anything she'd been expecting. She couldn't bit back the cry that came with it, but recovered quickly enough to slam the man holding her into the wall behind them.  
  
He slumped to the floor unconscious, and Buffy ducked behind the counter as another arrow whizzed by her head. She easily identified the shooter. It had to have been Joe; he was the only one left standing, after all. For all his talk, he was probably too much of a chicken to face her head on.  
  
Another arrow embedded itself to the wall just above Buffy's head, missing its target by mere inches.  
  
Or it could be, another voice in her head that sounded eerily like Cordelia rebutted, that you're an overconfident crazy pregnant lady!  
  
Ignoring the voice (cause frankly Buffy had gotten use to ignoring Cordelia's voice, real or not), she pulled out the arrow from her shoulder, biting into her lip so hard it bleed. She could hear the sizzle of burnt flesh, and suddenly she felt as if her arm was on fire.  
  
"The arrows laced with holy water." Joe yelled, somewhere to her left. She couldn't see where precisely because she was still crouching down behind the counter. "I wasn't sure if you were a vampire, but something told me so. No body moves that fast, even a supposed slayer. Out of curiosity, how does a vampire get pregnant?"  
  
"It's one of those mysteries in the world, Joe." Buffy quipped, easily. "Kinda like how a 2-pound box of chocolate can make a women gain five pounds."  
  
Or thirty, in her case.  
  
"Ah. Well, anyway I just wanted to give you heads up. I've got plenty more holy water arrows, and it'd be a shame if it hit your womb."  
  
"Not playing nice." She muttered, retreating further into the office space behind the counter.  
  
"Anything to get the job done, babe." Joe replied, then seemingly switching his choice of weapon from a crossbow back to an automatic, sprayed a burst of gunfire towards her. It missed entirely, but it was still a little too close for her comfort. Her comfort being an area that covered the circumference of twenty feet around her in every direction.  
  
"So, if you're Buffy Summers, is this really Cordelia Chase?" He asked. "They didn't tell me she was such a stiffener, though. Beautiful brunette, out cold and at my mercy. Completely at my mercy, you getting my drift?"  
  
Buffy froze, feeling any warmth in her cold body leave. Cordy was defenseless lying there in the lobby. He could put a whole round of bullets in her body before Buffy could do anything, superhuman speed or not.  
  
"You touch her and it'll be your own personal apocalypse." Buffy warned.  
  
She peeked behind the corner of the counter in order to see where he was. He was expecting that, and fired at her again. The bullets definitely breached her comfort zone that time.  
  
"Yeah, right. And what exactly is your plan? Play peek-a-boo with me until I die of boredom?"  
  
"I'm not talking about me." Buffy replied, "I'll be the least of your problems. Touch Cordelia and Cordelia will make you pay, trust me on that one. You won't know what hit you."  
  
"Hmm, I'll take my chances. Come out here with your hands up," Joe replied. "Or she dies right now."  
  
Buffy paused once again, considering. But did she really have a choice? She couldn't let Cordelia die. Not for her. Buffy owed her that much.  
  
"Think about it, now-" Joe began, but then there was a sound of a crash, and Buffy heard a body hit the floor.  
  
"Can't say she didn't warn ya." Someone muttered. Cordelia.  
  
Buffy quickly rose and saw a groggy Cordelia standing over Joe's body, with shards of a broken vase all around. A wave of relief rushed through her.  
  
Buffy walked over. "You alright?"  
  
Cordy shrugged, then swayed on her feet, clutching her head. "Fine, but I'd really appreciate it if the floor would stop playing merry-go-round with me." She groaned. Buffy steadied her and walked her over to the couch. "What happened? One second I was standing in the middle of the lobby, and the next a whole bunch of commando guys come rushing in and knocked me out."  
  
"They're Wolfram and Hart people." Buffy informed.  
  
She looked up, "Oh damn. What, like we don't have enough problems without adding evil lawyers?"  
  
"Apparently not." Buffy replied. "Add a Priest, a Rabi, and a bar into the mix and this is somebody's cruel joke."  
  
She looked around at the disaster area that was the lobby, and sighed. She could see all of the six men littered around the room, two of them she'd killed. Plus the four men upstairs she'd taken down without a thought.  
  
Cordelia caught sight of the two dead men. "You did that?"  
  
Buffy nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"Oh."  
  
She wanted to feel a slice of guilt about it, but the truth was, if she were to do it all over again, the same thing would have happened. Inside her, a debate was constantly raging. Good v/s evil. To spare or kill. Mercy or punishment. She knew that it would never be one or the other, but a combination of both. She needed to find a balance between her demon and the soul, but problems never got easier simply because you know the question. It was the elusive answer, or in this case, the semblance of balance that was needed.  
  
Everything was about balance, she remembered the Oracle once telling her. She had no idea why that thought had struck her in the moment as chilling truth, but it did.  
  
Everything had balance. She just needed to find hers.  
  
Shaking her head, she forced herself back on track. She'd deal with those other thoughts later. Right now, there were ten men total taken down. Who knew if there were more? There could be a whole bunch of evil lawyers/commando guys waiting outside. She needed to focus on that if she planned on surviving the immediate future.  
  
Slowly, with an apologetic look on her face, she helped Cordelia up. She gave a small groan of protest.  
  
"Sorry Cordelia, but we gotta get out of here right now. We'll take the tunnels. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a Beta team waiting outside right now."  
  
"Beta team?"  
  
She shrugged, and helped Cordelia out the back door that lead to the sewers. "Sorry. Lingo from my Riley days. It means a secondary team, used as back up."  
  
"Just what we need to make our day perfect." She muttered, dryly. Then looked over at Buffy and gasped. "Your bleeding."  
  
Buffy looked down at her shoulder, having forgotten about the wound entirely. "It's nothing. Already healing."  
  
"Dammit Buffy, you need to be more careful than that! You're pregnant."  
  
"I know, kinda picked up on that fact several months ago." Buffy replied, calmly. "But the PTB are protecting this baby. Hell, I've been stabbed through my stomach with a sword and it didn't hurt the baby. Nothing can, especially not my shoulder wound. So relax."  
  
"Relax, she says." Cordelia muttered. "We've been here less then a day and we already got ambushed by Evil Incorporated. We're once again homeless. We have no contacts or friends. The entire world is foreign to us. And I'm feeling dizzy! But oh, she says relax. I feel much better now. Thanks."  
  
"Thank you, Miss Optimism 2004." Buffy replied, glaring. They stepped into the sewers and started trudging slowly along. "You quite through with detailing our woes or would like to alphabetize them as well?"  
  
"No," Cordelia muttered, then grimaced. "I'm hungry, too. But that's not what's really bothering me."  
  
Buffy sighed. "What's really bothering you? Did you break a nail?"  
  
"Funny. But no, what's bothering me is the vision."  
  
"What vision?" Buffy asked, stopping to look at her. It was then that she noticed Cordelia's eyes were pure white.  
  
"The vision I'm having right now." Cordelia replied, growing pale. She took a deep breath and looked Buffy in the eye. "It's of you, fighting two vampires."  
  
"Just two?" Buffy asked. That wasn't so bad, but then why was Cordelia looking so worried.  
  
"How am I doing?"  
  
"Decent, considering . . ."  
  
"Considering what?"  
  
"That the two vampires you're fighting are both your ex-honeys."  
  
--  
  
"Human filth." The Brachen demon whispered with a snarl, sitting across from Wesley's desk in a finely light, well furnished Wolfram and Hart office. He looked a tad miffed, not that it bothered Wesley in the slightest. "I came here seeking business, and they send me to a mere human? Filth, I tell you."  
  
"Filth?" Wesley echoed, dryly. "A tad brutal to judge so quickly, don't you think? I mean, I haven't even given you my name. Sit down, have something to drink. It's common courtesy to at least get to know me before your rush in with the name calling."  
  
"I want to speak with the vampire. I came here to do business with him."  
  
"Yes, well. He's a bit busy right now. Why don't you tell me what your business is and I'll see if I can pass it along."  
  
The Bracken shifted, displeased. The needle spikes that jutted from its distorted face twitched. Full fledged Brackens, like this one, were well famed for their temper and quick violence. Wesley knew to tread lightly, or at least offer some formal apology about any inconveniences, but he found himself strangely lacking concern over the matter.  
  
Or perhaps, what he found more disquieting, was that it wasn't so strangely.  
  
He didn't know when, or how, or why, but Wesley had recently discovered an apathetic side to him that he never knew he had. The world seemed colder then he remembered, and everyday things seemed more vicious to his eyes. Yet, as that thought would have once alarmed him, Wesley found himself accepting it with a cold understanding.  
  
He didn't know why it seemed that way all of a sudden, for no discernable reason. It just did. He'd lost that naive innocense that he was once recognized for. Gone was the geeky bookworm that trembled in the presence of demons. Now, what remained was a man who didn't even blink an eyelash at an imposing and angry Bracken not two feet away from him.  
  
Times had changed, and so had he. He just wondered sometimes, at the oddest moments, what specifically over the past few years had made him so?  
  
"I'm waiting for your answer," Wesley said, forcing his attention to the here and now.  
  
The Bracken's eyes narrowed, and his demeanor turned to outright hostility as he reluctantly spoke, "The twelfth night of the coming month will bring a change in the balance. I need to make preparation, and most unfortunately, that means dealing with this law firm. I will say no more of this until I speak with the vampire!"  
  
"A change in the balance?" Wesley questioned, calmly.  
  
It sneered, "A concept far beyond your understanding, human."  
  
"Humor me." Wesley replied.  
  
"You have no idea what laws of symmetry, what rules of govern, you are disrupting with your petty delays."  
  
"And I'm sure it would help if your continued to be vague." Wesley added, dryly.  
  
The Bracken grew even more agitated. "Take me to the vampire with a soul, NOW! Or you will suffer for your insolence with your life, pathetic human. You all are petty, insecure pieces of waste. A plague that's not worthy of our attention. You think you own the world. Why most chose to hide in the shadows from such filth, I will never understand."  
  
Wesley found himself fighting off a small smile. "Really now, if you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague. And here I thought we could be friends."  
  
This mockery seemed to break the Bracken's weak resolve, and it stood up, to it's full intimidating size of seven feet tall and snarled angrily with a foreboding sneer. He grabbed the end of Wesley's oak table and hurled it to the side in order to advance, no doubt intending to inflict anguish.  
  
. . . Only to crumble himself in pain just as quickly as Wesley grabbed the nearby thick Tuk'mundar reference book and slammed it onto the Becken's head.  
  
"Oh, and humans are not elitest. We just really are better than you." Wesley chided, and hit him again.  
  
The demon fell to the ground with a heavy thump, just as the belated pair of security guards burst through Wesley's double doors. They stopped several feet from the scene, and then glanced up at the British man simultaneously.  
  
Wesley deposited the book back onto his corner table sedately. "Take him to the holding room on level nine." He ordered. "Sedate him and don't forget to restrain the two accompanying Brackens in the lobby that came with him. I do not want word to spread to his clan. Not yet."  
  
They nodded, and began to pick up the Bracken by the hands and feet.  
  
"Oh. And don't kill any of them." Wesley added, picking up the phone and hitting the first speed dial. "He may have some valuable information."  
  
"He's not the only one." Someone replied.  
  
Wesley looked up to see a third security man walk in. He waited for the other two to leave with the demon, and after they did, he nervously shut the door. Wesley raised an eyebrow at the gesture.  
  
"We need to talk, sir." He said, taking a deep breath.  
  
Wesley found himself fighting off a wave of exasperation. He didn't have time for whatever this was. He needed to inform Angel about the odd cryptic lines of the Bracken. A change in balance, laws of symmetry, rules of govern. Where had he heard those phrases before? Whatever it was, it garnered some research. After all, Brackens were well known for their accurate visions of the future. Even Doyle, Angel's deceased friend, was a half-Bracken seer. Their words of foretelling were not to be taken lightly.  
  
But that matter, it seemed, would have to wait a few minutes.  
  
"Alright," Wesley replied wearily, hanging up just as he heard Harmony's cheerful voice on the other end of the phone. "Why don't you start with your name and why you're here."  
  
"Andrew Harding, sir." He replied, running a hand through his thinning hair. Dear lord, that had to be the worst comb-over job Wesley had ever seen. "I work with the Surveillance Division down on level two. I have some information that I think you need to know. Something about the Hyperion."  
  
Wesley paused, not having heard or thought about the Hyperion for longer then he cared to admit. Suddenly, the Bracken's words were already fading into the background. "You have my undivided attention, Mr. Harding. What is it?"  
  
"Three hours ago, we received some interesting footage from the surveillance cameras in the Hyperion. I want you to know that I wanted to tell you right away, sir. But my boss, Peter Decker, wouldn't let me. You have to know, Sir, I tried my best to tell him it was a bad idea, but he's a stubborn man. He's - "  
  
"Get on with it, Mr. Harding." Wesley snapped.  
  
He sometimes hated having to deal with the Wolfram and Hart employees. No, scratch that. He always hated it. If they weren't being conspicuously evil, then they were doing it behind your back. And while they weren't away plotting behind your back, they were falling over themselves to shuck up like a teacher's pet. It was disgusting, and quite often, obvious as daylight. He had no doubt this man before him was any different. The more they protested any wrong-doing on their part, it seemed, the more guilty they usually were.  
  
Harding stepped forward and handed him several pictures, and any thoughts Wesley entertained about locking up evil employees alongside the Brackens was immediately forgotten. Wesley suddenly felt his throat go dry.  
  
Was that Cordelia? And Buffy? Pregnant?  
  
"Those were taking three hours ago." Harding explained. "Then Peter Decker, the boss I told you about, he got this insane idea that he could go in and take them down without you needing to know. I pleaded with him to tell you. I said that Mr. Angel and especially you, Mr. Pryce, were not to be handled."  
  
"I'm sure." Wesley muttered, still staring at the pictures with disbelief. Some type of trick, it had to be. And Cordelia had long brown hair, cut in a style not all that different from the way she wore it several years ago. He had no idea why that particular detail stuck out so much, but he found himself focusing on it.  
  
"Anyway, we sent in an R-D-O-A team of ten in."  
  
"R-D-O-A?"  
  
"Retrieve, dead or alive." Harding replied. "They went in about an hour ago, and well . . . things didn't go well."  
  
He handed him a different set of pictures, this one of the blonde fighting off the R-D-O-A team, killing and injuring all ten men easily. The last picture was of the bodies littered around the entire lobby.  
  
"Anyway, I thought you should know. Peter's probably down there right now, trying to cover up the mess."  
  
Wesley looked up, "Mr. Harding?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Be honest with me now, do I have the word 'gullible' etched on my forehead?"  
  
"Uh, no."  
  
"How about the word 'imbecile'?"  
  
He paused, "No, sir."  
  
"Do I look thick-headed or particularly slow?"  
  
He shifted, "No."  
  
"Then why would you ever presume that I would buy into your innocence?" Wesley replied, setting down the photos. "Your guilt is as see through as that mangy comb-over."  
  
"Hey! . . I'm not sure which part of that statement I take more offense to."  
  
"Take it whatever way you like," Wesley replied, "You just better hope Mr. Angel is in a good mode. He'll be judge and jury for you. You just better hope he doesn't decide to be executioner as well."  
  
"No need. I already made my decision."  
  
Wesley looked up to find Angel suddenly standing in his doorway, a presence about him that screamed of barely contained fury and violence. Wesley was well familiar with that stance. It usually occampanied hard times and a lot of mayham and violence.  
  
How long had he been standing there?  
  
Angel walked over and with a quick and agile move, punched Mr. Harding in the face. Wesley couldn't help but winch when he heard the distinct crack of what was no doubt Mr. Harding's jaw breaking. Propelled by such a strong blow, he ended up flying back and slamming into the wall. He slumped unconscious to the floor, but Wesley had no doubt in his mind that the man had gotten off easy.  
  
Long enough, Wesley silently answered himself.  
  
"Get everybody together," Angel ordered, grabbing the photos from Wesley's hand.  
  
A shadow passed across his face as he eyed the images, and Wesley knew that was just a glimpse of the turmoil coursing through his friend. He couldn't help but blatantly stare at the vampire when he was in this state. No discernable expression appeared on his face, but so much could be read from it.  
  
So much emotion . . . Or an effort to show lack thereof.  
  
"I want answers." Angel declared, eyes hard. "And if this is someone's idea of a joke, I want that someone's head."  
  
--  
  
Meanwhile across town, Cordelia and Buffy were sitting in an old, run-down demon tavern. The oppressive stink of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and other things Cordelia really did not care to think about lingered in the air. The place stank worse then the sewers they had just come form, and Cordelia absentmindedly remembered a time in her life where it would have taken nothing short of an apocalypse to get her to enter a place like this.  
  
"Deja-vu." Buffy muttered beside her, "This place reminds me of Willy's."  
  
"I feel sorry for Willy, then." Cordelia replied, grimacing. "You ready to start milking demons for information yet?"  
  
"Yeah." Buffy replied, "That big guy over there, with the horns, has been eying you since we entered. Why don't you go talk to him?"  
  
"Me? I thought you were going to be the one asking questions. This is your scene, not mine."  
  
"My scene?" Buffy repeated, incredulous. "Even in my evil days, I had better taste then this! Besides, if we want information, we're going to have to go down either one of two paths. Beat it out of them or flirt with them. I already had enough bloodshed for one day, and seeing as I'm pregnant and fat, as you keep on reminding me, not many guys are going to want to flirt with me. That leaves you."  
  
"Yeah, expect most here consider me a Happy-Meal on Versace shoes. Are you sure you're not up for more violence?" Cordelia asked, a tint of pleading in her voice. "It's a healthy source of releasing pent up anger and frustration, both of which you've got oodles of."  
  
Buffy glared. "Cordelia, right now the only person I'm feeling frustrated at is you. Besides, that demon is a Ciamen Demon. They don't eat humans, but bed them. So you're fine."  
  
Cordelia gave her a look. "Your definition of reassurance is frightening."  
  
Buffy grinned, enjoying this far too much. "Go. Flirt."  
  
"And what exactly should I say? Hey, nice horns! Seen a vampire with a soul lately?"  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Just be yourself, Cordelia. After all, someone has to and you're closest."  
  
Cordelia narrowed her eyes, but ignored the comment. Mainly because she couldn't think of a witty response quick enough. She needed more sleep to function fully. And possible a different line of work. Habitually fixing a stray piece of her long brown hair, she bared herself for what was sure to be a traumatizing experience. But the quicker she did it, the quicker she could repress the memory.  
  
"Fine," She said, "but if one of these guys touches me with their slimy paws, they're not getting it back."  
  
Buffy smiled. "I've got your back . . . just from way back here. If you need any help, wave at me and I'll be over there before you can even say 'unspeakable horror.'"  
  
Cordelia nodded reluctantly, and turned around. She walked over to the bar and straddled the stool next the aforementioned horny demon . . . err, horned demon. Trying to keep an aura of calm, she waited for the demon to take notice. He didn't disappoint. When he turned around and saw her, he outright grinned, displaying an impressive amount of sharp teeth.  
  
"Hey." He greeted. "Haven't seen you around here before."  
  
Gee, haven't heard that line before, Cordelia thought as she calmly ordered a beer from the bartender. She turned to look at the demon, finding his scarlet eyes raking over her body in the most obvious way possible. She fought down a wave of sickness.  
  
"I'm from out of town." She replied.  
  
"Where from?"  
  
"Way out of town." She said, thinking that it was both completely true and utterly false at the same time. She was from LA, just not this one.  
  
He nodded, "Alright. Then what's an out-of-towner like you, with a face like yours, doing in a place like this?"  
  
"I heard this place had tasty pretzels." Cordelia replied, glibly.  
  
He laughed, a deep throaty one that made Cordelia's skin break out in goose bumps. Then suddenly, just as it began, it stopped. He looked her in the eye, sniffed the air once, then twice, and narrowed his eyes. He did not look happy.  
  
"What are you?" He demanded, his voice laced only slightly with discomfort. "You're not fully human, not that I care. But the demon in you, it doesn't smell right. What species are you?"  
  
"Excuse me?" Cordelia replied, "Don't you know never to ask a women her species."  
  
"Cut out the cuteness, sweetheart. You smell of goodness."  
  
"And you smell of vermin, but you don't hear me complaining."  
  
He growled fiercely, eyes flashing from scarlet red to pitch black. Apparently insulting his smell had been the wrong way to go. Who would have thought?  
  
"Watch your mouth, girl. You should know better then to insult a demon three times your size."  
  
"I'm no girl." Cordelia replied, more calmly then she felt. Hoping Buffy was watching this all and sensing the bad turn of events, she rose from her chair to square off with the demon. "And size doesn't matter, it's what you do with it that counts. I'm sure you've used that line with plenty of your dates."  
  
His hand shot out and grabbed her, "You little whore, I'll show you what matters–"  
  
"Eww. Get your slimly palms off me, you overgrown horny demon." Cordelia replied, trying and failing to remove his grip. "Buffy! Any time you're ready this year to back me up would be greatly appreciated . . . Buffy! . . . Buffy?"  
  
Silence.  
  
She managed to turn her head to the side, noticing for the first time that Buffy was no where in sight.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
Two words: Oh shit.  
  
"What are you?" The Ciamen demon demanded, dragging her attention back.  
  
Cordelia turned around, reevaluating the situation. "Look," She laughed nervously, "this all some type of misunderstanding. Just let me go."  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"Or . . . Any moment now, unspeakable horror! Trust me!"  
  
She waited for a second for Buffy to pop out of nowhere at the cue, but it went unanswered. Note to self : First available chance, hurt Buffy badly.  
  
"And whose going to inflict this unspeakable horror? You?"  
  
"Yeah, me. You see, you're right. I'm not just any ordinary demon. I'm one of the big ones. I know Karate, Kung Fu, and 47 other dangerous words. So let me go!"  
  
"You're nothing more then a half-breed." He replied, "An annoying one, at that. But I got to admit, they don't make many that look like you. I think I'll mate you, then rip out your tongue to stop that annoying talky noise you make. Maybe not in that order."  
  
Cordelia felt a shiver run down her spine and said the first thing that came to mind. Probably not the most smartest thing, though.  
  
"Hey look! A huge distracting thing!"  
  
Then quite ironically, bright light blinded everything in sight, and it took Cordelia a moment, as it always did, to realize that the light was coming from her. Or more precisely, her demon powers. Light filled everything in sight and the illumination broke all concentration of the demon. He released Cordelia from his tight grip as if his hand had been on fire, which thinking about it, may have been the case. She still had no idea how her demon powers precisely worked.  
  
The Ciamen demon recoiled and whimpered back, as did the other demons in the room that Cordelia saw out of the corner of her white eyes. Damn straight you better retreat, she thought flippantly.  
  
As the risk in the room dissipated, Cordelia felt the danger pass to an acceptable level. Right now, the most dangerous thing in the room was her, and she liked that just fine. Slowly feeling the pure energy seep from her pores, she let her now-white-eyes return to their normal shade of brown. After a moment of silence in which every pair of demonic eyes in the room latched onto her in fear and awe, she turned her attention back to the Ciamen demon on the floor before her.  
  
"Pandemonium and panic. My work here is done." She taunted.  
  
"Wow, Cordelia. See you busted out your demon moves."  
  
Cordelia turned and saw Buffy walking back into the room, calm as ever. She stepped over one of the demons cowering on the floor.  
  
"Where the hell were you? I thought you said you'd be watching!"  
  
Buffy flinched. "Sorry. I had to go the bathroom."  
  
"The bathroom!" Cordelia repeated, incredulous. "You left me with a bunch of demons because you had to go to the bathroom!"  
  
"Hey, I couldn't help it! My bladder has a mind of its own these days. Besides, I was only gone for thirty seconds. How was I suppose to know you'd turn the Ciamen demon homicidal in that time?" Buffy replied, and then pretended to think. "Oh wait, I forgot who I was talking about. Your gift for infuriating the wrong people is legendary in some circles. When I said flirt Cordelia, I didn't mean in true Queen C fashion."  
  
"This was not my fault. How does this situation even remotely become my fault?"  
  
"It's one of your special talents."  
  
"You want to know another one of my special talents? Bladder control!"  
  
Cordelia didn't notice the Ciamen demon's attempt to get up, but Buffy did. She grabbed the dagger from her waistband and flung it across the room. It imbedded the Ciamen's hand into the floor board, holding it in place.  
  
"Don't move." Buffy warned. "And that goes for everything in this room. I'm a hormone crazed vampire and Cordelia's . . . well, she's Cordelia. Scary enough on her own. Don't mess with us unless you have a particularly weird death wish that involves knives, stakes, glowing people, and far too many witty remarks for anybody's good."  
  
"Yeah, thanks for calming down the room now." Cordelia muttered, scathingly. "I could have used your help thirty seconds ago!"  
  
"Look, I'm sorry." Buffy replied, "But can we continue this bitch-fest later on?"  
  
"Count on it." Cordelia replied, then turned to address the room at large. "Now, we have questions. You will have the answers. Let's just do this quickly and everybody here can go back to pretending you didn't get your asses handed to you by a small, albeit pretty, half-demon. K?"  
  
A few murmurs and a growl was heard from the audience.  
  
"Angelus or Angel." Buffy announced. "Which one?"  
  
"What?" One of the demons asked.  
  
"Which vampire is in this city? Angelus or Angel?" Buffy repeated. "Soul or no?"  
  
A few murmurs and finally the Ciamen demon answered, "Angel. Souled."  
  
Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief, not noticing that she'd been holding her breath waiting for the answer. Across from her, Buffy had on a similar look of relief. Angel was here, in this city. There was hope after all . . .  
  
But then, what was up with her vision? Why was Buffy fighting him and –  
  
"Spike, a.k.a William the Bloody." Buffy said, walking up to the Ciamen demon. "What's he up to lately?"  
  
"The same thing Angel is." The Ciamen demon replied, snorting in disgust. "They work together."  
  
Cordelia and Buffy looked up at each other and shared a look of surprise, tinged only slightly with optimism. Spike was working with Angel? Wow. Concept. Cordelia had only been around Spike for a short time, and even though she'd gotten to know a lot about him in that brief period, he was still a paradox to her in many ways. He fought for the good side sometimes, and other times he couldn't bring himself to care. But the one thing she could say about him with absolute certainty was that there wasn't any love lost between him and his grandsire.  
  
Things must have been really different here for that to change. Did that mean . . . could it be that they were both working side by side, doing --  
  
"They work for Wolfram and Hart."  
  
There was a moment of surreal silence as the room plunged in temperature, Cordelia and Buffy both stopping dead in shock. They had to have heard that wrong, right? Cause that didn't make any sense. Angel and Spike working together, working for Wolfram and Hart?  
  
Buffy was the first to recover. "Say that again?"  
  
"They both work for Wolfram and Hart. Well, no. I suppose that's wrong . . ."  
  
Of course it is, Cordelia thought relieved. She nearly snorted in amusement.  
  
"They actually run it." He finished, causing Cordelia to blink. "Angel actually owns the whole damn LA division."  
  
"They run Wolfram and Hart?" Buffy repeated, incredulous. "This is the law firm that caters to evil demons and stuff, right?"  
  
"The same one. They're actually my lawyers." The Ciamen demon replied, a grin growing on his face. "Why? You two goldilocks worried that the big bad Wolfram and Hart will come and get ya?"  
  
Cordelia and Buffy were too busy sharing a look of growing apprehension to answer him. Why were Angel and Spike working for - no, scratch that - heading Wolfram and Hart? The same Wolfram and Hart that had sent commando guys to kill them not two hours ago? That made the type of sense in which sense was senseless.  
  
"How long have they been heading the law firm?"  
  
"Since around the Reign of Fire and that Jasmeen fiasco."  
  
"The rain of what and the who's fiasco?" Cordelia asked.  
  
The Ciamen demon raised its eyebrows, "You really are from out of town, aren't ya?"  
  
"We'll ask the questions here, buddy."  
  
"Then ask away." He replied, grinning.  
  
Cordelia stood still, not liking the way he was suddenly looking so smug. A guy laying on the floor in fear should not look smug. And he most definitely should not be glancing at Buffy in a speculative manner. Hey! A couple of seconds ago he'd been all willing to "mate" Cordelia, now he was eyeing up Buffy? Male demon whore.  
  
"Maybe this reality is another world's hell," Buffy muttered, and Cordelia couldn't help but agree on numerous levels.  
  
Angel and Spike. Wolfram and Hart. That did not add up.  
  
Were they evil in this reality? Did Angel's soul even matter? It was almost unthinkable that a souled Angel would have tried to kill her, but that's exactly what had happened. He tried, and what was perhaps just as disturbing, he did it in such a cold passionless manner as to delegate it to a deadly group of commando guys. She thought she at least bolstered a personal effort on his part. Was that too much to ask?  
  
She silently reflected on her last thoughts and sighed. She really was screwed up beyond recognition at times.  
  
Buffy cleared her throat, and nodded Cordelia towards the door. "We'll give you a ring if we have anymore questions. Remember to behave and be good little demons. Eat your vegetables. Cordelia, let's go."  
  
"Wait, Buffy." Cordelia protested, "I've still got questions-"  
  
Buffy grabbed her arm and lead her towards the door, "Later. We gotta get out of here now. There's a whole group of demons headed our way."  
  
"How many?" Cordelia asked, heading towards the sewer entrance.  
  
"Many." Buffy replied. "I picked up their scent. If they're friends with those guys from the bar, we're in trouble."  
  
"Okay, don't need to tell me twice." Cordelia replied, dropping down into the sewers.  
  
Buffy followed her through, and then paused as sounds from up above attracted her attention. Cordelia couldn't hear a thing, but she knew Buffy's vampire senses were picking up everything just fine.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Shhh. They're talking."  
  
Cordelia waited as patiently as she could, wondering why they weren't using this time to put as much distance between them and the bar as possible. Finally after a moment, Buffy looked down with a troubled expression and asked, "Do you think you can do that whole light-flashy thing again?"  
  
"Uh, kinda no. It's really draining the first time around. Plus, its not really under my control."  
  
Buffy muttered a few choice words of profanity and seemed to grow more agitated every second. "Dammit, we're so stupid!"  
  
"What? Why?" Cordelia asked, alarmed.  
  
"We're idiots, that's why. They know I'm a pregnant vampire! Dammit, why can't I do anything right? I kill, which is bad. I'm pregnant, which is impossible. I have mood swings the size of a golf strokes. And I'm fat! When the hell will I do something normal and sane?!"  
  
Cordelia blinked at the odd outburst, and then quickly hit Buffy upside the head softly, dragging her attention back to the present. Damn hormones really did mess with Buffy's head at times. "What are you going on about? So they know you're a pregnant vampire, so what?"  
  
"Don't you see where I'm going with this?"  
  
"Besides insane, you mean?" Cordelia answered.  
  
Buffy sighed, and rubbed her head as if she had a pounding headache. "I'll explain later. Right now, we have to go."  
  
"Great." Cordelia snapped. "I was ready to leave before we got here."  
  
"Yeah, except there's a catch. We need to split up."  
  
"What?! Why?" Dammit, Buffy could be so frustrating!  
  
"They're making a hunting group up there. They're after me and they have my scent. I'll need to loose them and that means moving quickly. Even thirty pounds heavier, I'm three times faster then you. Splitting up is the best idea right now."  
  
"Really? Cause it sounds monumentally stupid to me."  
  
"We don't really have time to debate this, Cordelia." Buffy replied, "Go south, meet me at the . . . Westside Pavilion shopping center at sunset. If I'm not there by nine, find someplace to hold up for the night. I'll find you somehow."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Somehow." Buffy snapped, "Now go!"  
  
Cordelia didn't pause for a second, simply turning to run down the swampy sewer. Afterwards, when she was sure she was far enough away, she stopped and looked back as Buffy ran in the opposite direction. She was fairly sure that she saw several other demon figures chasing after her.  
  
Damn. This was firmly the PTB's fault. What drugged induced state were they in when they sent them here? The situation could not possible get worse.  
  
Which was, of course, when she turned around and saw Spike.


	4. Surprise, you say?

Author's notes (Long!) - I'm trying to update as quickly as possible, without shortchanging the chapters. Hope you like it.

Thank you all to those who reviewed. I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me. I love that you guys like my Cordelia/Buffy friendship, and even though B/A is not the preferred choice to some of you, you're still sticking by me! Thank you! To reward, I'm going to try my best to have a good friendship between Buffy and Spike, and Cordelia and Angel. Cannon feelings will not be ignored, but addressed in this fic.

I have to write special notes to :

Inreal : After reading your review(s), it was said so nicely, that I honestly considered for a moment changing the ship! But then I remembered I have a good portion of the story already plotted out and it would muck up my plans. So alas, no I'm not changing them. It's B/A. I know that there are a lot of over-the-top melodramatic fics out there, and I can only hope this won't be one of those. Thanks for saying it nicely though, a lot of others would have been nasty about it.

Thelionessrules : Real incisive remarks! I don't want to say to much, but . . . very perceptive!

MysticWolf1: I'm so glad you don't think it's predictable. That's one of my main goals. And thanks so much for putting me in your fav lists! It makes me feel special; the good kind, not the bad.

Other a/n notes : Wesley will be a pretty big character in this story, cause I love him so much. (I would imput a remark about the season finale, but many may not have watched it yet.) I just wanted to make sure everybody remembers that this story takes place directly after Smile Time episode. So NO Illaryia. I like her character, but don't know how to write it. So, I figure its best to stick with what's comfortable . . . Plus, Wesley will be happy. Bonus.

Question to audiance - if you could have one Buffyverse character pop-up in this story, which one? Please respond, cause I might do it. Just one character, though. I don't want to have a big family reunion.

onto the story . . .

--

Cordelia muttered a string of curse words that had even Spike raising his eyebrows in shock.  
  
"Colorful," Spike commented, after a moment of bewildered silence. "But I prefer just to go by 'Spike' these days."  
  
Cordelia held her breath, mind racing to figure out a way out of this really, really bad situation. Her first instinct was to turn and run screaming like a banshee in the opposite direction, but either she had the common sense to remember about the demons back at the bar or she had grown more daring in the last couple of years then even _she_ realized. Either way, she stayed right where she was without even trembling.  
  
Then again, there was a good chance she was also in shock. She decided to take comfort in the fact that Spike didn't look so good, either.  
  
He was the first to recover, however, an expression of understanding washing over his face. "Oh, I get it." He smirked, "Should have known I'd be seeing you sooner or later. Gotta admit though, I thought it'd be a bit with the later. Didn't take much time to lick your wounds, didja?"  
  
"Yeah, well . . ." Cordelia replied, trailing off . . . What was going on? Did he think she was the Cordelia of this world?  
  
"Good camouflage for the body, tho'. You nearly had me fooled." He replied, nonchalantly striking a match to lit his cigarette. He inhaled, letting it out slowly in a cloud of smoke. "Too bad you chose the wrong vampire with a soul. Peaches would have fell for it, but then again I'll admit, he never really had the pleasure of your company before. Not in the 'intimate' way you and I know each other, anyway."  
  
She didn't even pretend to understand those remarks, but decidedly didn't like where it was gong. "Intimate? . . Please tell me that's vampire talk for draining me dry. Cause compared to the alternative, I might just prefer that."  
  
Could it be that the other Cordelia was boinking Spike in this reality?  
  
_Eww._  
  
Spike looked momentarily confused, then quickly turned annoyed. "What else does the ultimate Evil call days of torture and bloodletting? And to think, you didn't even buy me dinner. I almost felt cheap."  
  
Cordelia stood frozen, like a deer caught in headlights.  
  
Torture and bloodletting? Ultimate Evil?  
  
Spike sighed, letting out another puff of smoke as he grew more agitated. "What? Having your incorporeal ass kicked by a bunch of slayers fog up that evil mind of yours? I know it's a blow to the confidence, but c'mon. At least taunt me or something!"  
  
"Taunt you? What the . . ." She sighed and trailed off, re-gathering her thoughts. Annoyed, she waved the fog of smoke away from her, coughing slightly. "Trust me, a few insults are coming to mind. Many that involve the words raving psychopath and blonde--"  
  
Spike, for some reason, stood momentarily frozen, starring at her hands as she waved away the smoke. His eyes seemed to follow every movement as if memorized by them, watching them with a creepy fascination that made Cordelia freeze in unease.  
  
"Wait a tick." He grumbled to himself.  
  
He reached out and poked her. Hard.  
  
"Ow!" She cried out. "What the hell did you do that for?"  
  
Violence she expected, but _poking_?  
  
"Bloody hell." He looked her in the eye surprised, and then said in an oddly accusing voice. "You're not the First!"  
  
Cordelia raised an eyebrow, "The first what, you delusional freak?"  
  
"The First Evil. I thought you were incorporeal!"  
  
She had no idea how to respond to that, mainly because it didn't make any type of sense that Cordelia knew. "Okaay, well let me assure you I'm not." She said, pinning him with a patronizing gaze. "In fact, let me prove it to you."  
  
She swiftly stomped on his right foot.  
  
"Sonava–"  
  
Then kneed him in the groin.  
  
"Bloody hell!!"  
  
She used the distraction and quickly pushed past him, breaking away in an effort to reach the sewer escape hatch that lead to the surface up above. Seeing the ladder, she raced towards it without a glance back. She was only a few feet away from daylight. She could almost make it.  
  
And she _almost_ did.  
  
She was on the second step up the ladder when she felt his arms snatch her around the waist and drag her back down. She elbowed him in the stomach, but despite more swearing, he held on so tight she could barely breath. She struggled some more, but eventually seeing the futility of it, stopped fighting. She did not, however, relax in any way. How could she, when Billy Idol wannabe had his cold hands around her?  
  
"You bloody bitch!" He exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how much it hurts to get kicked in the nether regions? It's worse then having your hands cut off, and believe me, I know!"  
  
"My heart bleeds for you." She muttered back, dryly. A second later she realized the stupidity of that statement.  
  
"Not yet but it will, pet. Trust me." He whispered back, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. Cordelia couldn't contain the shudder she felt rise up her spine as she realized Spike - _evil Spike_ - was in the perfect biting position. "Now, starting talking. Who or what are you? And why are you impersonating the air-head cheerleader?"  
  
"Because I am the air-head cheerleader!" She replied heatedly, then realizing what she said, took an annoyed breath of air and spoke as calmly as she could, through clenched teeth. "I mean, because I am Cordelia."  
  
"How slow do you think I am?" Spike asked. "And if you answer that with an insult, I'll break your pretty little neck."  
  
"Yeah. You know, that threat gets more frightening every time I hear it." Cordelia scoffed. "Besides, it's not as if you care who I am. Killing me would just make you _that_ much closer to reaching your evil quota for the day, right?"  
  
She nearly kicked herself as she realized Wolfram and Hart had probably been trailing them the entire time. She should have known they didn't screw up like they did in the Hyperion often. And if they did, being the professionally evil lawyers (as redundant as that statement was) that they were, they were not the type to make two mistakes in a row. With their type of resources, it was only a matter of time before Wolfram and Hart tracked them down and took them in.  
  
And now, with Buffy and Cordelia divided and separated, it was perfect opportunity to conquer. Sending in Spike was just the cheery on top, Cordelia thought sardonically. Angel was probably too busy hunting down Buffy.  
  
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Spike demanded.  
  
"Wolfram and Hart, buddy. That's what I'm talking about." Cordelia replied, "They sent you here, didn't they? To track us down and kill us."  
  
"Who's this 'us' you're talking about?" Spike questioned, releasing his grip on her slightly.  
  
He allowed her the freedom to move away from his body, turning her around so she could face him. Even so, he still had a vice like grip on her forearm that cut off circulation. It hurt like hell, but Cordelia wasn't going to give Spike the satisfaction of seeing her winch. He narrowed his eyes at her, suspicion and confusion clearly evident.  
  
"You got some wankers around here that are actually stupid enough to take on Wolfram and Hart? Oh, Angel's going to _love_ this. Especially with you in that 'outfit.'"  
  
Cordelia opened her mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it shut. It was her turn to look confused. Taking on Wolfram and Hart? Not even Buffy would be stupid enough for that.  
  
"And who are these wanker friends of yours, anyway?" Spike questioned, further. "Some witches that think they're all with the mojo 'cause they can glamor themselves into whomever they want?"  
  
Witches? Cordelia snorted. Who did he think they were, Willow?  
  
"Answer me, pet." Spike continued, when Cordelia refused to answer any questions. "Who's working with you, and why?"  
  
Wait, he didn't know about Buffy? Cordelia narrowed her eyes, unconsciously mimicking his expression as she tried to figure him out. Why hadn't Wolfram and Hart, the company he works for, tell him that he was after Cordelia and Buffy?  
  
"Look, peroxide boy," Cordelia said, trying to keep the confusion out of her voice. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Wolfram and Hart, and everyone in it, can go talk a long walk off a very short pier for all I care. They're the ones that went after me, not the other way around."  
  
Spike snorted, "Then it might have been wiser to, I don't know, not impersonate Angel's bint."  
  
"I'm not his bint! And I'm not impersonating!" Cordelia answered, "Why do you care, anyway? The concept of you being Angel's sidekick again is a little--"  
  
"Hey!" Spike yelled, outraged. "Take that back! I'm not his bleeding sidekick."  
  
Cordelia smiled, seeing a weakness. It seemed some things, no matter what universe, never changed. She'd hit a nerve. "Then why is it, in the two minutes we've been talking, that it's been Angle this, peaches that, etc, etc. etc. . . You've practically got 'loyal puppy-dog" stamped on your forehead."  
  
Spike released her from his tight grip, throwing up his hands in frustration as he paced around. "That's not true, you sodding, annoying, cheerleader wannabe! I should ring your neck for--" Cordelia backed up a step. He took a deep breath and looked over at her, "Oh, I get it. You want me to kill you now so we'll never find out your big master plan to take down Wolfram and Hart."  
  
Uh, no. That was _so_ not her plan. And why did he keep thinking she was after W & H?

"Well, guess what? It's not going to work."  
  
Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief, which Spike didn't notice because he was too busy ranting to himself.  
  
"All I wanted to do today was go to my favorite pub and have myself a nice bottle of scotch and blood." Spike muttered in irritation. "I didn't want to meet up with any demons impersonating dead chicks. Done that before with the First. Overrated. All I wanted was to get away from Angel or his ruddy law firm. Just for one day. Was that so much to ask?"  
  
Cordelia watched as he extinguished his cigarette. Only to lit another.  
  
"But I guess I'll just have to make do, won't I? A champion's work is never done. Sodding champions."  
  
He'd been on his way to the demon bar to have a drink? Cordelia thought, incredulously. It was just pure coincidence that they'd run into each other? Damn you, PTB! Could you at least pretend to help us out here?  
  
Then something else grabbed her attention.  
  
"Champion?" Cordelia questioned.  
  
He ignored her blatantly obvious tone of disbelief, and asked. "Who are you?"  
  
"I told you already. I'm Cordelia."  
  
"Wrong answer." Spike replied, "That chit's been dead for a couple of weeks now. I'll ask again, who are you? And keep in mind, I'm feelin' peckish."  
  
Dead? The Cordelia here was dead? She quickly moved on from that morbid thought.  
  
"It makes no difference if you believe me or not," Cordelia replied. "I'm Cordelia, just . . ."  
  
"Just what?" Spike asked, "Her long lost twin? Her ghost corporealized? Her number one fan that had reconstructive plastic surgery to look just like her? Hit me with your bloody best shot. Trust me, I won't be surprised."  
  
"I'm her from an alternate reality."  
  
He smirked, "That was my next guess. Nice try, but I wasn't born yesterday, pet."  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes, "I know, you were born over a 140 years ago. You'd think you'd have grown some tiny bit of sense in all those years, but no, still as clueless as ever. I'm from a freakin' alternate reality! How am I suppose to prove that?"

"I don't know, but you better think quickly cause I've never been known for my patients, pet."  
  
Cordelia snorted, "Or for your brains."  
  
Spike growled. "You definitely have the cheerleader's mouth. She had a way with words, too. Most called it annoying. Guess what? I'm one of them."  
  
"The feelings completely mutual." Cordelia replied.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes heavenward, and she quickly took that opportunity to glance at any exit available, only to determine that she'd have to run at breakneck speed to outrun him. An escape wasn't really plausible. So instead, she watched as he ran a frustrated hand through his bleached hair and mumbled to himself. He did that a lot. It was comforting to know she frustrated him.  
  
"Well, I suppose there's only one way to settle this. I'll apologize later, if I have to."  
  
"Apologize for what?" She asked.  
  
"For this." He replied.  
  
Then quite suddenly, he vamped out and bit her.  
  
And she, accordingly, screamed.  
  
She had no idea how long it lasted, but before she even realized what was going on, one second she was screaming her head off while being bitten and the next she was released from his grip and standing wobbly on her own legs.  
  
"Well, whaddya know?" Spike muttered, wiping his demonic mouth and morphing back into his human visage. "You're telling the truth."  
  
"You bit me!" She screamed, outraged.  
  
"Picked up on that, didja?"  
  
"You bit me!" She repeated, incredulous. "You actually bit me! What the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
"I'm a vampire, luv." He replied, nonchalantly. "It's what I do. Besides, I needed to make sure you weren't evil."  
  
"By poking and biting me?"  
  
"The poking was to make sure you weren't the First." He answered irritated, as if it was obvious. "The biting was to make sure you weren't just plain ol' evil."  
  
"What's next? Do the hookey-pookey and you shake it all about? _You're_ the one that's evil here!"  
  
"Oh quit complaining, I barely took any. Just enough to taste if you were evil. And for your information - no, I'm not evil. I have a soul now, thank you very much. Bit of old news really. Honestly, I'm not sure how Angel put up with you all these bloody years."  
  
"I can tell you biting wasn't involved." Cordelia answered, scathingly.  
  
"Pity for Peaches." Spike responded glibly, leaning against the sewer wall with indifference. "By the way, I believe you. You tasted just like the Cordelia here. No evil in ya, just some demony parts."  
  
She gave him a look. "Do I even want to know how you know what the Cordelia here tasted like?"  
  
"Testing to see if she was evil, too." Spike replied, calmly. "She wasn't."  
  
Cordelia considered hitting him again, this time just for fun.  
  
"Hey, what do you want from me?" Spike replied to her look. "I apologized, didn't I?"  
  
"Uh, no. You didn't!"  
  
"Well, if it means anything to you, I'm sorry. Sort of. Well . . . no, actually not so much."  
  
She took a deep breath and counted to ten. "Tell me again you're not evil?"  
  
"A hundred percent souled." Spike replied, smiling. He held up his right hand, "I swear . . . every damn day."  
  
She gave him another dirty look, and wiped away at the trail of blood near her neck. It was true, he didn't take much. But it still bothered the hell out of her. Being bitten didn't exactly foster feelings of good will and confidence in him. Still, the Spike she'd known in her reality wasn't that different. With the exception of the biting, of course. He'd been neutered with a chip, but events took place that had taught her he'd have been non-bitey even without it. He'd shown the same flippancy and irrationality there, too.  
  
And he'd turned out to be ultimately good.  
  
In fact, she owed him her life. If it hadn't been for him, she would be dead. She could still picture in her mind clear as daylight the moment he'd been dusted by Angelus's hand. It was the first time she'd allowed herself to cry in all those chaotic months that had preceded. She never thought she'd ever be sorry to see a pile of dust, but in that moment, she thought she felt as if something inside herself had shattered and dusted with him.  
  
_Hope_.  
  
He died saving her. And remembering this, she couldn't quite meet the eyes of the vampire that stood in front of her. She wanted to believe in him, too. But could she really? She didn't survive so long by trusting every demon that came along, after all. There were still way too many unanswered questions. And the concept of Spike _with a soul_ had about a dozen different questions alone.  
  
"How'd you get a soul, anyway?" She asked, wearily.  
  
"Meet a demon in Africa, took a beating to, and got a shiny prize." Spike responded. "What's your story?"  
  
She hesitated. She didn't trust him nearly enough to mention half her story, especially the bits with Buffy in it. If this turned out to be a trap, which was you know, not totally out of the realm of possibility here, Buffy was the only way she'd make it out of Spike's grasp alive . . . If she was safe now herself, that is.  
  
"Long story." She eventually replied, keeping it as vague as she could. "The latest chapter of which involves demons chasing me down this very sewer."  
  
"Wouldn't happen to be Ciamen demons, would they?" Spike asked.  
  
"How'd you know?" Cordelia questioned, surprised.  
  
"There two of 'em right behind you." Spike responded, calmly.  
  
Cordelia's eyes widened as she quickly turned around, catching sight of two demons baring down on her with their full might. She heard Spike's warning to move a split second too late and suddenly the world seemed to grow dark, dimming even further into shadows. With a vague sense of pain, Cordelia blinked, dropped down on all fours, and saw no more.  
  
--  
  
Angel walked out of his office and into the lobby of Wolfram and Hart, waiting impatiently for one of the many employees around him to give him some answers. They'd all gathered together, pulling resources from every branch of the law firm, and he was still as clueless as he was when he first glanced at the troubling photographs of Buffy and Cordelia.  
  
Nobody could tell him why someone, or most likely something, was impersonating Cordelia and Buffy. Especially with Buffy pregnant! Couple that with the fact that Cordelia's death was still an open and completely fresh wound for Angel, it served no other purpose than to piss him off royally.  
  
"Harmony!" He barked.  
  
She popped up out of nowhere, smiling a nervous smile. "Yeah, boss?"  
  
"Get somebody to fix my computer."  
  
"What's wrong with it?" She asked.  
  
"It's in several pieces on my floor." He replied briskly, walking away.  
  
He brushed passed employees as they scurried around him, no doubt intimidated by the fact that the CEO was out for someone's head. Word had spread quickly about Angel putting Andrew Harding in the hospital with several broken bones. He also had every intention of doing worse to the rest of the Surveillance Division if things turned out bleaker than it was presently. Although how that would happen was anyone's guess. Around here though, Angel knew things could always get more complicated.  
  
Trust Wolfram and Hart to take a bad situation and turn it into something worse.  
  
He entered the conference room where Wesley, Gunn, and Lorne were gathered. The large conference table in the center was littered with ancient books and textual scripts, each one being inspected individually by one of the three men. But that wasn't what grabbed Angel's attention.  
  
"Where's everybody else?" He asked.  
  
"Fred's down in her lab." Wesley answered. "She's running some last minute tests on the blood samples and hair fibers taken from the Hyperion. DNA analysis should be complete soon. We're hoping to find out what species of demon we're dealing from them. She'll be down with the results then."  
  
"And Spike's not answering his phone." Gunn added. "Don't know where he is."  
  
Angel shrugged off that information. He didn't particularly care, need, or want the blonde pain-in-the-ass vampire around, but over the last couple of weeks, he'd at least learned to tolerate him to a certain extent. That was why he'd made sure to have someone call him in. If he didn't answer, that wasn't Angel's fault, right? He at least made the effort.  
  
Lorne sat down on the leather love seat in the corner, nursing another sea breeze drink in his right hand while he examined the photos once more. "So this is the blonde bombshell that has vampires rushing for souls everywhere?" He commented, looking at Buffy's pictures. "She's a cutie. When did she get knocked-up?"  
  
Wesley looked up, "I already contacted Rupert Giles in London. He assured me that Buffy is still in Rome. And not pregnant. You can imagine how quickly that conversation deteriorated into awkwardness on my part."  
  
"Is he positive?" Angel questioned, with a bit of an edge.  
  
"Yes." Wesley answered. "He was quite verbal about it, actually."  
  
"So what we've got are impersonators of this Buffy chick, and Cordelia." Gunn remarked. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to take off the legal suit and bust someone's ass. Cordelia's been dead less the a month. I don't like the idea of somebody walking over her grave like that." He suddenly grimaced as if realizing something, and looked up at Angel with a distasteful look. "Speaking off--"  
  
"Her grave wasn't robbed," Angel responded immediately, instinctually knowing where Gunn was headed. He checked up on it himself.  
  
"Demon imposters. I've heard of stranger things." Wesley added, then smiled sadly. "Although the idea of Cordelia caught wearing the same hairstyle for more than a couple of years, I'm surprised not to see winged pigs."  
  
Angel couldn't help but smirk, then quickly fought off the smile as he remembered that this wasn't Cordelia they were talking about. This was something that was pretending to be. But not for long.  
  
It'd die a brutal death that involved swords, hot pokers, cutting instruments, and all types of dismemberments.  
  
Gunn flinched and shared a look with everybody else. "Nice imagery." He commented.  
  
Angel looked up to find everyone in the room looking at him strangely. Apparently he'd said his last thoughts out loud without even realizing it. Fine. Better that way. He wanted everyone to know that this type of thing was unacceptable. He was going to make an example out of these demons. A bloody example.  
  
He took an unnecessary deep breath, trying to calm himself. It wasn't very effective considering every fiber of his being was wound up so tight, it could spring. The very notion of Buffy and Cordelia together, or something pretending to be them, was not a comforting thought. He was annoyed by that. Buffy and Cordelia both had always (or at least, a major extent of the time when he wasn't brooding over them) been a calming influence.  
  
"Who are the main suspects behind these imposters?"  
  
Gunn answered, "Well, there's no way to be positive. We've made quite a few enemies these last couple of months. Not to mention the ones that we had before coming to Wolfram and Hart. The list is long. We'll need time to shorten it."

"We should get around to doing that literally, not figuratively." Angel answered. "But right now, let's just deal with these main two."  
  
"Yeah, well. Can somebody explain this to me?" Gunn interrupted, "What's the point of this whole thing? What do they have to gain by pretending to be Cordelia and Buffy? And why were they at the Hyperion in the first place?"  
  
"All good questions," Angel replied, turning around to the other human in the room for answers. "Wes?"  
  
Wesley rolled his eyes, "Oh damn, it seems my psychic abilities are failing me presently. Look, truth is, I can't say what their plans are. It makes no sense to me, but it's usually the plans that are the most complicated and confusing that seem to mess us up the most. The only immediate advantage they could hope to gain with this is making sure we loose our focus. A distraction, maybe? If it is, then admittedly, they're doing a good job."  
  
Lorne raised his hands, "I hate to be the odd man out here, but I have to suggest something. Maybe who, or whatever this is, isn't doing this out of spite. Maybe it's not evil. Isn't it possible that they just wanted our attention and used bad judgment? I mean, when Roseanne sang the national anthem, she butchered it and had every patriotic fanatic in the nation spitting nails. But is it her fault she's not Diva material?"  
  
Angel was hard pressed not to snap at the green demon. "As hard as this concept is for you to get, Lorne, bad singing isn't a crime punishable by death–"  
  
"Lucky for you," Lorne muttered.  
  
"–but murder is. They killed two of our men."  
  
"Yeah, Wolfram and Hart employees." Gunn noted, wryly. "Playing by the ratio of good and evil employees working here, the blonde could have done us a favor."  
  
"Not that I condone the murders, but they were fighting in self defense." Wesley said, then added in an impressed tone. "Which they did quite effectively. Buffy took down--"  
  
"Not Buffy." Angel interrupted, intensely. "The thing pretending to be Buffy."  
  
"Yes, well. Whatever it was, it moved quickly and with a lot of power. None of the R-D-O-A team members have recovered consciousness, yet."  
  
"Pity." Angel replied, without the slightest bit of care.  
  
"I think the point we're trying to make here, Angel, is maybe we should slow down before we begin with the . . . _dismembermen_t and such. These things, whatever they are, are powerful. We need to proceed with caution."

"I'm all for caution. As long as it comes hand in hand with punishment."  
  
"Angel--"  
  
"I buried Cordelia not three weeks ago, Wes!" Angel exclaimed, "Her body isn't even done decomposing and they're already using her death to get to me. I won't allow her memory to be defiled anymore. Not after everything she went through. She deserves to rest in peace."  
  
Uncomfortable silence ensued, where everyone in the room with the exception of Angel shifted in unease.  
  
"We know, man." Gunn eventually said, breaking the silence. "We all loved Cordelia, too. You don't think this is getting to us?"  
  
"It's not designed to get to you." Angel replied. "This is designed to get to me. That's why they have Cordelia and Buffy. They used both of them. Buffy was . . . she was the first thing I ever loved and I won't allow that to be exploited either. They took the two women in my life, the only women in my life and . . ."  
  
He trailed off, so much emotion that words were useless.  
  
Lorne smiled a tight smile, "I know, sweet cheeks. You love them both. Don't need to be an aura reader to see that. But you can't let them muddle with that hair-gelled noggin of yours, or else they win. That's obviously one of their goals to this entire cockamamie plan they have."  
  
Wesley nodded, slowly. "And you have to admit, you do have a tendency to get a bit overworked when it comes to the . . . _women_ in your life."  
  
"And that's usually single, individual women. Now we're dealing with plurals." Gunn said. "All we're saying is take a step back and breath. You know, figuratively."  
  
"There's just no need to get all alpha-cavemen on us, sweet cheeks." Lorne agreed. "Put that brooding brow to rest and let us handle this problem together."  
  
He had a feeling they'd discussed this before he entered the room.  
  
Fighting off a wave of annoyance that they were treating him like a time bomb about to go off, he pushed back his chair and sat down. He wasn't that bad, was he? Well okay, he'll admit that when Connor hooked up with Cordelia, he got a bit . . . _irrational_. And everything with Buffy was always just so . . . _intense_. And there was that one time with Darla, where he kinda went . . . _insane_.  
  
But he wasn't that bad, honestly.  
  
"I'm fine." Angel grumbled, when he noticed everyone was still looking at him cautiously. "Or at least I will be when everyone stops starring at me and gets to work!"  
  
Everybody quickly turned away and found things to do.  
  
"I still don't get what their plan is." Gunn mumbled, talking quietly to Wesley. "How does a pissed-off vampire with unlimited money and resources benefit anyone?"  
  
Which was precisely when the door opened and Fred walked in, carrying several files with her. She dropped them on the conference table and everybody gathered around her.  
  
"Got any answers?" Angel asked.  
  
"Yeah." Fred replied, wearily. "They just lead to more questions, though."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Well, you guys know we sent in a forensics team to the Hyperion. They picked up some trace samples of blood belonging to . . . the blonde. She was apparently wounded during the fight."  
  
"Barely." Wesley commented. "She did rather well against the Retrieval Team."  
  
Fred shrugged, "I was able to run some preliminary tests on that, and the results were shocking, to say the least . . . Say, almost as shocking as the results I got for Cordelia."  
  
"You mean the one who was impersonating Cordelia." Gunn corrected.  
  
She smiled a forced smile, eyes clouded with something Angel couldn't quite identify. "No, I mean Cordelia." Fred replied, sighing. "There were a couple of strands of long brown hair found on the floor of the lobby. We ran DNA tests on that and I compared them to the medical files Wolfram and Hart had on Cordelia. They're a match. I mean a complete match."  
  
"But that can't possible mean . . ." Wesley began to protest.  
  
"I know," Fred interrupted, showing her own frustration. "But speaking genetically, they're identical. It's Cordelia's DNA."  
  
"Wait, you can't possible be saying what I think you're saying."  
  
Fred took a deep breath and looked up at everyone. "She's Cordelia."  
  
Angel's mind suddenly screeched to a halt at those words, and all the anger and frustration he'd been feeling suddenly changed to complete and utter confusion.  
  
"_What?_!" Everyone in the room shouted simultaneously, causing Fred to flinch.  
  
"You're kidding, right?" Lorne questioned, "Not to undermine your clever, way too confusing, and brilliant mind, Freddikins. But you've got to be wrong."  
  
Fred shook her head. "Not to sound arrogant after that delightful description, but I'm not wrong."  
  
"But that's impossible!"  
  
"I know!" Fred replied, "But I ran the test three times! With an accuracy of 99.8%, that brunette in those pictures is Cordelia. Not an imposter. Not a shape-shifter. Not anyone, but Cordelia."  
  
"You made a mistake, girl. Or your computers did." Gunn responded. "Hell, it probably just couldn't tell the difference between Cordelia and a demon that copied her body--"  
  
"No, Charles." Fred rebutted, "Wolfram and Hart's technology is advanced. We cover all basis, scientific and mystical. Bottom line is, even a demon impersonating her would leave some mark on a genetic level. There is no difference between this Cordelia and our Cordelia. They even have the same exact demonic attributes in their DNA. I checked repeatedly."  
  
Silence filled the room once more, but this time it was the stunned type and not the uncomfortable one. Angel had no idea what to think. Could it be . . . was it even possible? _Cordelia alive?_ He'd checked her grave not 15 minutes ago. Nothing had been disturbed.  
  
But then, another voice in his head whispered with glee, Darla's body had been dust and wind for years and somebody had resurrected her. Why was it so impossible to think somebody couldn't do the same with Cordelia?  
  
"Cordelia's alive?" Gunn asked, stunned.  
  
"Cordelia's alive." Wesley replied, in the same stunned manner.  
  
Somebody pinch him.  
  
But then, the part of his brain that was always in denial and lived in cynical land, or in other words - reality, suddenly pushed hard on the brakes. His life would never have that type of luck. No one would ever just grant him one of his greatest wishes. There had to be a catch.  
  
Why would somebody bring Cordelia back? And who were they? And also . . .  
  
"What about Buffy?" Angel suddenly demanded, remembering the blonde in the pictures. An impossible notion occurred to him as he realized there may actually be two Buffys.  
  
Fred looked up apologetically, "I didn't have a DNA sample of Buffy's to run it against, so I can't say it's her. I can't say it's not her, either. But even ignoring the fact that it's impossible to have two Buffys around, it get's weirder."  
  
"Alright, I'll bite the proverbial bullet." Angel replied, "How could it possibly get weirder?"  
  
"Because I found two anomalies in her blood." Fred replied, "Individually, I wouldn't bat an eyelash. Together, they're impossible. I have no other word for it."  
  
"Nothing's impossible." Wesley rebutted, not unkindly.  
  
"How about the presence of extremely high levels of progesterone in blood that has Lamiac-induced Anemia?" Fred asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, well." Wesley replied, blinking. "That is impossible."  
  
Angel raised his eyebrows and shared a look with the other two people present. He was glad to notice they had a confused expression on their faces, too. Fred and Wesley sometimes did share a language of their own. Sure, he recognized the words, but when strung together, they often came out gibberish.  
  
"Uh, guys." Lorne said, calling attention. "For those of us who don't understand geek talk, could you tell us that in plain English."  
  
"With words that have three syllables or less." Gunn added.  
  
Fred blushed, "Sorry."  
  
"Don't be." Angel replied, "Just tell us what we're dealing with."  
  
Fred shared a look with Wesley, then turned to Angel with nervous eyes. He already didn't like where they were going.  
  
"Well," She began. "Progesterone indicates pregnancy."  
  
"Right, no big shocker there." Gunn nodded. "The pictures clearly shows the blonde is pregnant."  
  
"Right," Wesley continued, hesitantly. "But when coupled with blood that has Lamiac-induced Anemia . . ."  
  
Angel froze, and saw what was coming.  
  
". . . it indicates a pregnant _vampire_."  
  
Complete and utter silence filled the room, this time both the shocked and the uncomfortable type.  
  
"Okay, apparently I don't understand plain English, either." Gunn responded. "Cause I heard pregnant vampire. Isn't that a major no-no?"

"Well, judging by history and every bit of information gathered by the Watcher's Council over the centuries, it is impossible." Wesley muttered, stunned. "Only apparently not. Fred, are you sure?"  
  
"Trust me, I checked my findings many times . . ."  
  
The conversation continued around Angel, but he didn't pay any attention. His mind was focused on thoughts of another pregnant vampire, Darla. Visions danced in his head with a clear vividness that he could blame on his perfect photographic memory.  
  
Visions of Darla's pregnancy, her death and Connor's birth, Connor as a baby, Wesley's betrayal, Holtz's revenge, Connor's emergence from a portal, hurtful words, the ocean, Cordelia and Connor together, Connor's hatred, Jasmeen and her death, his face constantly filled with loathing, anger, hatred . . . and ultimately the confusion and desperation during those last moments before Angel was forced to slash his throat, giving him life again.  
  
Another life.  
  
Another life that no one knew about. Another life that had altered and distorted the memories of everyone around him with the exception of Angel . . . _and for some weird reason, Eve_. It all flashed before his eyes like a movie, playing out in quick succession. All the while, Angel could only think one thing . . .  
  
It was happening again.  
  
"Angel . . . Angel?" Fred's worried voice floated in, "Angel, are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, man. You don't look so good. Kinda pale . . . er."  
  
"Maybe you should sit down?" Wesley offered.  
  
"No, I'm alright." He quickly answered, shaking off the feeling of deja-vu and shock. "Just surprised, is all."  
  
"It's to be expected," Wesley replied. "After all, with your history of--"  
  
"My history of what?" Angel exclaimed, interrupting. Wesley didn't know . . . did he?  
  
Wesley gave him a strange look. "I just meant, that since the pregnant vampire we're dealing with here looks remarkably like Buffy, may even be – . . . well, you're bound to be upset in any case."  
  
Oh God, Angel thought, running into panic again. The pregnant vampire was Buffy this time. He'd nearly forgotten about that _extremely_ crucial detail in his anxiety.  
  
Buffy. Pregnant . . . vampire?  
  
What the hell was going on here?  
  
Before he even realized what he was doing, without any conscious effort whatsoever, he was across the room and reaching for the phone. Assurance from Giles be damned. He needed to hear her voice. Make sure she was okay, and in Rome, and not a pregnant vampire!!  
  
"Angel, what are you doing?" Gunn asked, sharing a look with the others.  
  
"Calling Buffy." He replied, curtly. He dialed the phone number for her Rome apartment, not even realizing the fact that he'd subconsciously memorized it from his PI reports.  
  
"Angel, I know you're worried." Wesley started, in a calming manner. "But perhaps we should notify Buffy, if that is even wise, when we have more information."  
  
Gunn nodded. "Yeah, you're probably going to freak her out, is all."  
  
He ignored them, listening to the ringing on the other end of the phone. Pick up, Buffy. Pick up. Pick up! PICK UP!  
  
"Leave the big fella alone, guys." Lorne said, in a knowing manner from somewhere behind him. "He's not going to listen now."  
  
The ringing continued for an insane amount of time, but Angel held on, waiting impatiently. For all that is holy and good in the world, please just let her pick up!  
  
"Hello?" Her sleepy voice finally drifted in.  
  
Had he been breathing, he would have stopped.  
  
He recognized her voice in an instant, bringing about a plethora of feelings in him that she could always provoke without effort. He closed his eyes in relief, the type of which he should never have known or deserved. For a brief second, he even forgot why he was calling.  
  
God, her voice was beautiful.  
  
"Hello?" She repeated, and he could hear her yawn. "Caio? Any body there? . . Andrew, if this is you calling for--"  
  
Abruptly snapping out of his daze, he slammed the phone down so hard it broke.  
  
And like that, the feeling of euphoria shattered as well. Too brief for his liking, but it had to be that way. He didn't know what he'd say to her and right now he needed to be focused. Needed to be here and now and not caught up in the 'what ifs.' Feeling ridiculously relieved and disappointed at the same time, he looked up at everyone else in the room. They were exchanging glances again. He really hated that, but couldn't bring himself to care at the moment.  
  
Buffy was safe. Buffy was alright.  
  
"Buffy's–" He began.  
  
The double doors suddenly busted open, and Spike came swaggering in, carrying somebody in his arms. And when Angel got a closer look at the unconscious form, he stood frozen in shock. This day was just full of surprises.  
  
"Lookie who I found." Spike muttered, smirking.  
  
Cordelia.  
  
--


	5. Your Welcome

A/N - Please read.  
  
Thanks to all those who reviewed. I'm trying to post this quickly, so I'll respond to individual reviews next time.  
  
This chapter is short, very short, and for that I apologize, but I'm going out of town for two weeks and won't be posting. I figure something is better then nothing. It's my first draft and I might re-post it later if I can think of something better. I wrote this really quickly and truth to tell, I'm not too sure of it. Tell me its bad, people. Too sappy? Too stupid? I need constructive criticism.  
  
I really hope everybody here watched the episode "**Your Welcome**." Otherwise, the ending of this chapter won't make sense.  
  
Buffy's part is in the next chapters, don't worry. I haven't forgotten about her.  
  
This chapter is dedicated to the C/A fans that still stuck by me!  
  
-  
  
Spike waited for the onslaught of chaos to ensue, but sadly it didn't come. He'd been hoping for some type of comical shock factor to arise, perhaps some gasps of horror and incoherent speech. But all he got was the type of shock barely worthy of a Kodak moment. He decided to take what he could get, enjoying the blank expressions on their faces that oddly reminded him of the one time Harmony had tried to watch CNN.  
  
"You do remember the cheerleader, right? You know, demon chick with the visions. Stylish and bitchy. Also dead. Looks kinda like the girl I'm holding onto now."  
  
They snapped out of whatever daze they were in, and all of a sudden he was almost ambushed by number of helping hands that wanted to aid him in carrying Cordelia's prone body to the leather couch. He shrugged them with an annoyed grunt and laid her down himself.  
  
"Where did you find her?"  
  
"Is she alright?"  
  
"Why is she knocked out?"  
  
"And also, not to sound too petty, but why does she smell really bad?"  
  
He noticed Angel still standing off to the side, silent and broody as ever. He didn't give him more then a glance before turning his attention back to the entire group and waving off their questions with annoyance. And just a tad bit of amusement, but he doubted anyone here was lucid enough to pick that up.

"She was being chased by Ciamen demons down the sewers." He replied, then smirked. "Just call me her knight in shining armor."  
  
"You found her in the sewers?" Wesley asked.  
  
"Unfortunately still conscious." Spike replied, smirk falling off his face. "I was two seconds away from knocking her out myself before the demons did it for me."  
  
"What did she say? Did you talk to her?"  
  
"Did she tell you how she came here?"  
  
He looked up at them, gauging their reactions with practiced ease. Despite what most people thought, Spike wasn't as clueless or thickheaded as he seemed. He could read certain people like an open book, and the people before him were in that category. The questions they just asked weren't the ones he'd been expecting first. He figured they'd go through seven rounds of denial and hell before they got around to the juicy questions of the hows, whys, and wherefor's. Sure, he wasn't blind to the anxiety and surprise in the air, but it wasn't in the my-friends-suddenly-back-from-the-dead type of shock he expected.  
  
Where was the shock and the horror and the over dramatic feinting?  
  
"Am I missing something here?" Spike questioned, annoyed. "You guys know this is Cordelia we're dealing with, right? Your friend with the three weeks old expiration date."  
  
"Yeah," Gunn answered. "We only just found out about her a few minutes ago."  
  
"Oh. Speak of the devil type of situation, huh." Spike replied, not too surprised. This was bleeding Wolfram and Hart, after all. Still, it irked him a bit that he hadn't been able to break the news in his own style about the Cordelia from the universe yonder over, but he mentally shrugged it off. He could find other ways to have some fun. "Well, then. My work here is done."  
  
He nonchalantly turned around and headed towards the door, and as predictable as ever, it was met with a chorus of outcry. He rolled his eyes and turned back around, enjoying this situation perhaps a bit too much. If he couldn't break the news, at least he could revel in the chaos.  
  
He had a soul, after all, not a killjoy lobotomy.  
  
His gaze wandered past Angel once more as he took in the frantic room, and he noticed with a twinge of annoyance and something else he didn't care to name, that the poofter still had yet to move or say anything. Too caught up in his own world, where everything revolved around him or ceased to exist, Angel had that very familiar expression on where he was thinking so much, it actually hurt his brain.

Although, Spike knew, that wasn't exactly some sort of great feat.  
  
"You have to tell us what she said." Fred said, drawing Spike's attention away from Angel.

"Thought you knew, already." He answered, gruffly.  
  
"We knew that Cordelia was alive somehow," Gunn answered, "but not how or why. Was she hurt? Was she captured? How long has she been alive?"  
  
"Yeah, fill us in on the details," Lorne added. "How did Miss Former Higher Power come back?"  
  
Spike raised his eyebrows, catching onto the fact they were far more slower on the uptake then he gave them credit for. And _that_ was saying something. Were they aware that this Cordelia wasn't their own? Glancing at the hopeful expressions on the faces, he was willing to bet that was a big fat _no_. They had no idea that this Cordelia was from an alternate reality. And at that thought and despite himself, he felt a pang of sympathy for the group gathered before him.  
  
He suddenly found himself in the position to break the news after all, but the ever hopeful looks, some more guarded then others, were making it less amusing then he thought it would be. Especially when he looked at Fred, who was perhaps the most obvious about her naivete, the green demon coming a close second.  
  
Mentally cursing, he realized he couldn't be cruel or flippant about this. It wasn't right to lead them on like that. A dozen different retorts went flying out of his head in the span of a few seconds, and finally he just plainly answered, "She's from an alternate reality, didn't ya know?"  
  
That got a reaction out of everybody, including Angel, who whipped his head up and stared at Cordelia with wounded puppy dog eyes. It irked him that he actually gave attention to that look, and pissed him off that he actually cared, if only a little bit. A _very_ little bit. But Angel wasn't the only one, though. Spike could literally see a small dash of hope die in each one of their eyes as they realized it wasn't their Cordelia after all.  
  
He found himself quickly adding, "But she's didn't seem that different, you know. Still spicy as ever, with just a touch of kick." He shifted, remembering certain painful moments in their encounter. "Bit more violent, tho'."  
  
"Did she mention us?"  
  
He shrugged, "Not really. I'll tell you, though, she won't be drawing pink hearts around Wolfram and Hart's name in her diary anytime soon. Kept ranting that you were out to get her."  
  
He saw them share an oddly guilty look at that, but before he could respond, Cordelia began to stir and move, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Angel was by her side in a flash as she slowly came to consciousness, a concerned look on his face that Spike somehow managed to _not_ roll his eyes at.  
  
"Cordelia?"  
  
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, blinked once, then twice, and then . . .

She screamed her _bloody head_ off.  
  
Angel leapt away from her as if burned, which was probably a good thing because she shot out of the couch without showing a bit of disorientation and dizziness. She was across the room in no time, grabbing the first thing she saw in an obvious attempt to get some type of weapon. It turned out to be a silver letter opener.  
  
Quite the resourceful little chit, isn't she?  
  
But as he looked at her and took in her stance, the amusement died before it could curl his lips into a smirk. Any trace of the humor he'd seen of her down in the sewers was gone. What remained of her had him blinking in surprise.  
  
He knew the girl could get angry at times, but never did he imagine like this.  
  
"Stay back," She spat out at Angel, loathing thick as syrup without any of the sweetness.  
  
Drawn to the sight of her hands tremble a bit, Spike was surprised to notice that despite the fact that she stood there, eyes trained on Angel with an expression of utmost contempt, the stench of fear was the most palpable thing in the air. It covered the room like fog and any creature worthy of the title monster could have picked up on it. Angel was no exception, because despite the bruised look in his eyes, he backed up a couple of steps as if the letter opener in her hands was an actual threat to him.  
  
"Stay back." She repeated. "Or I swear to God I'll rip your–"  
  
He decided to lighten the mood. "See what I mean? Bit more violent."  
  
"Cordelia–" Wesley began.  
  
Her eyes flashed to him and the others, as if taking in their presence for the first time, and Spike saw clear as daylight a different sort of recognition flash through them, this one not tainted with hatred. Then, before anyone could capitalize on it, her eyes snapped back to Angel once again, wavering slightly with confusion.  
  
"What are you guys doing here?" She asked, confused.  
  
"Cordelia," Wesley calmly coaxed, "Relax. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."  
  
She made a sound that was half-way a derisive laugh and half a choked sob, and Spike hadn't lived this long as a vampire without recognizing a person on their way to full blown hysteria. She was in a dark place, and it seemed, that since her eyes were so obviously locked onto Angel with hatred, it revolved around a certain vampire.  
  
If you needed more then one guess, you shouldn't be playing.

Angelus.

"Where am I?" She asked.  
  
Her hand was gripping the knife so hard, her knuckles were turning white with the pressure. But despite the fact that any one of them, especially the vampires in the room, could have disarmed her in a blink of an eye, none were willing to try. This was a half hysterical attempt, and needed to be treated with something Spike wasn't really use to.

Patient and care.  
  
Spike was the one to answer her question. "Wolfram and Hart, pet."  
  
"You!" She snapped. "You bought me to Wolfram and Hart? I though you said you weren't evil!"  
  
"I'm not." He defended himself. "You're alive, aren't ya? Saved you from the Ciamen demons, and all a bloke gets as thanks is accusations of being evil. I think you're a bit confused here."  
  
"Cordelia, relax." Fred replied, pleading. "You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you."  
  
Cordelia's eyes glanced towards Fred with uncertainty, obviously wanted to trust her but paranoia making her stop and focus her eyes back onto Angel. Spike was getting a clearer picture of her world with each passing second, and it wasn't pretty. Some thing must have happened in her life to make this girl edgy and hard when she needed to be.  
  
"I'm safe in Wolfram and Hart? I could think of a few places safer then that. In front of a firing squad, for one." She said, and despite the words, there was no trace of humor in her voice.  
  
"But you are safe!" Gunn added, "Girl, I don't know what you've been through, or where you came from, but if you're even a glimmer of the Cordelia we knew, then trust your instincts. Do you really think we're evil?"  
  
"Wolfram and Hart tried to kill me earlier today, Gunn." Cordelia replied, "It doesn't exactly foster warm and fuzzy feelings."  
  
"Sweetheart," Lorne added, "Look at us, do you think we'd be buddy-buddy with evil? Attempted homicide aside, which was totally not our doing by the way, we're–"  
  
"Cordelia." Angel spoke up, calm and cool, and demanding the attention of everyone in the room.  
  
It was granted, everyone's piercing gaze automatically focusing on Angel, Spike's included, but he watched as Angel only focused on the dark brown pair of eyes in front of him that were a bit too wild for anyone's taste. He held her gaze for just a moment, as if willing her to understand with just his eyes, then spoke in a calm manner that Spike hated to admit had always worked.  
  
"I'm not Angelus. I'm not evil."

Her hand wavered for a split second, then hardened again.  
  
He tried again. "Look at my eyes, Cordelia. You once said I knew you better then anyone in the world. That I could look into your eyes and know whether you were telling the truth or not. Well, it works both ways. Look at my eyes. I'm _not_ Angelus. I'm _not_ evil."  
  
Her hand wavered once again.  
  
"That knife won't do anything to me. You know that. I know that. But I haven't done anything. Why? Because I'm _not_ Angelus. I'm _not_ evil."  
  
He stepped forward.  
  
"Stay back!" She cried out, waving the knife frantically.  
  
He stopped, for just one second. "Trust me, Cordelia. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know what precisely is going on. All I know is that you're here. And I won't let _anybody_ hurt you. You and me, included."  
  
"Stay back." She repeated, this time with less vigor then before.

Spike could make out the facade of anger and hatred, and most of all fear, begin to break down slowly. Reason started to creep in as the adrnaline of waking up with, what was no doubt to her mind, an evil thing starring back at you caused. Spike could almost see the wheels in her head start turning, bringing into focus the picture before her.

"Trust us, Cordelia." Wesley implored. "And if nothing else, trust yourself."

Angel stepped forward again, and Cordelia bit back a sob, out of fear or something else, Spike wasn't too sure. Angel however, without even a slight hesitation, continued to step forward. And with each step he took, Cordelia's hand faltered even further until he was a arm's length away.  
  
"It's me, Cordelia. I swear. I'm Angel."  
  
She broke down and cried, dropping the knife onto the floor and falling down beside it. Angel caught her up in a embrace that had looked painfully tight and comforting at the same time while the others watched on with emotions such as shock still running high.  
  
"Is it really you?" Cordelia questioned.  
  
"Yeah," He replied, a soft smile on his lips. "Funny. I was just about to ask you the same thing."  
  
She laughed weakly, then cried some more. Spike noticed that everyone else's eyes were just a bit watery, too. He didn't really think, as much as a part of him wanted to, calling everyone pansies was the right thing to do just then. Sodding wankers, he mentally yelled.

He chose to ignore the fact that his unbeating heart was touched by the sight, too.  
  
"Yeah. It's me." Cordelia replied.  
  
"Good." Angel replied, "Because they're something I have to say to you that I never got the chance to."  
  
"What's that?" She asked, looking up at him.  
  
He smiled; half-sad, half-deliriously happy. "You never gave me the chance to say thank you."  
  
--


	6. Bittersweet Reunions

A/N  
  
I'm back from my vacation. Miss me? For those of you interested, I missed you guys too! I had a blast, but I tried to catch up with writing as quickly as possible. Judging by the majority of reviews I received for chapter five, I'm not going to change it. Most people liked it, or "loved it," so I'm leaving it well enough alone. Thank you for those kind reviews. However, I would like to take this time to reinforce a certain fact.  
  
I may have, apparently, been misleading several of you into believing this story is of a C/A shipper persuasion. I apologize for any confusion, but it is not. As I've stated for some time now, it is in fact B/A.  
  
Before people start flaming me, which I have a bad feeling is going to happen, let me just say this. I never purposely mislead anyone. It was always stated that this was B/A story, with C/A and B/S friendship in it. I'm beyond happy that you guys found my C/A friendship believable, but I never intended it to give false hope to C/A shippers. Sadly, for those of you I'm addressing, I have not changed my mind and will not change my mind about this. I just have too much of this story already planned out for me to go changing it. Please understand and don't flame me for it.  
  
Perhaps, when I have enough time, I'll list reasons on why this is a B/A story. But that'll have to wait till later. It's a question that's loaded enough without rushing the answer. Until then, be comforted in the fact that all the characters in this story are treated with respect.  
  
On a brighter and completely unrelated note, this story now has a beta! MadelineFate has graciously taken the task of fixing my error-filled stories. I'm sure a lot of you are glad to hear that, and I'll send along your thanks to her.  
  
Onto the story . . . and please remember to review on your way out. The more reviews I get, the faster I write!  
  
--  
  
Chapter six  
  
Buffy doubled back in the sewers, bleeding from the leg wound she'd sustained during her fight with the demons. It had been a bloody fight, and even though she'd slain them with ease and any resulting wounds of hers would heal up within the hour, she still felt like crap. It had taken more effort then she'd thought it would to kill the demons and she couldn't help but wonder how Cordelia had held up against her own.  
  
Which was why she had chosen to defy her own plans and track Cordelia down now instead of waiting for their rendevous place and time. She couldn't get over the nagging feeling the something big had happened to Cordelia, and so she trudged through the sewers for the third time that day, tracking Cordelia's faint smell in the atrocious smelling sewers. The number of things and the types of things she could smell in this place made her want to heave, a thing not uncommon for this mother-to-be. Ignoring the other smells, she continued ahead and followed Cordelia's scent as it twisted and turned through the sewer systems.  
  
What if she'd been found by the demons? What if they'd attacked her, and she'd ended up . . .  
  
She shook off the thought immediately, and doubled her pace. She'd just have to open the proverbial can of wuppass on all the demons that she saw coming. After already clearing out the demon bar and those that had chased after her, she figured it wouldn't be too bad to handle a couple more. The only missing ones she could count, she figured, were the two Ciamen demons sent to chase after Cordelia. She stopped to sniff the air, and grimaced when she realized that their scent was right alongside Cordelia's pathway. She knew it was virtually useless to hope they hadn't found each other.  
  
Cordelia, she thought silently, if you die on me, I'll travel to the seven levels of hell just to kick your ass.  
  
Turning again in the sewer system, she reversed the verbal abuse on herself, knowing it was her fault for getting them into this mess in the first place. For once, Cordelia's less then stellar opinion of Buffy's intelligence was right on. Buffy had been so immensely naive to be up and about in the demon world. She knew better than to flaunt about the fact that she was a pregnant vampire! It's a thing that attracted a lot of unwanted and so unneeded attention, and even in a world where phenomenons happened regularly, it was a really big deal.  
  
Many had proclaimed her baby as a miracle child from day one, and the entire demon world had wanted a piece of it. Even in her world, where people knew not to mess with Buffy, she'd had to kill off an entire vampire cult to get her point across. No one was going to touch her baby, and if they tried, they'd have to deal with one pissed off Mommy.  
  
Nothing was getting their slimy paws, claws, tentacles, or hands on her child. She'd die, for real this time, before she'd allow that to happen. She just hoped she'd been quick enough to stop the news of her 'miracle' child from spreading through the underground. It was surprising to learn how quickly word circulated through the evil ranks of demon society. It was best to cut it off at the head, which was why she'd returned to the demon bar on the way back and slain every demon present. Even the ones that had been sitting idly in the corner.  
  
It had been a messy scene.  
  
Buffy quickly shook off the image, and for the umpteenth time, she repeated to herself that it was necessary. She did it to ensure no one went after her and no one else found out about her baby. If that meant she had to kill off demons that were as harmless as Clem, so be it. She just hated the fact that while once she wouldn't have thought twice about killing, especially demons, she now felt a touch of . . . not guilt, but disgust at having to do it.  
  
Okay, and maybe a bit of guilt, too.  
  
How screwed up was she? She was once the Slayer. It had been her job to kill the big uglies off, and now she felt disgust and guilt about it? Her human side, the one destined to be a Slayer, had been born for killing, and obviously, her demon side didn't mind in the least to a little, if not a lot, of carnage. Then why was she feeling guilty?  
  
She didn't even feel this guilty about killing the two commando guys earlier from Wolfram and Hart. How could she possibly feel guilty about demons, but not humans? How could she feel guilty now instead of before? It made the type of sense that Buffy herself didn't even understand, but had long become familiar with. She was confused and screwed up beyond words, and it seemed to keep getting worse as time passed. Nothing in her life had ever been easy, but at least things had usually had a certain clear cut image to them. Now, there were always two sides to everything and nothing meshed together well.  
  
She found herself longing for the old days when everything was black or white. She'd been a warrior of light once, no matter how long ago it seemed. Then, she'd always known what the right thing to do was, even if doing it made her feel like nothing more then death and destruction. She'd accepted her limited choices in life, with a neat and narrow perspective, and just did what needed to be done.  
  
And after that, when she died for a third time, the coin had been flipped on its tail. This time she was reborn as a vampire. The new freedom that came with the immortality and the no-soul status was unlike anything she'd ever dreamed of. There were no rules. No responsibility. Nothing mattered to her except what she wanted and how to get it. It was all about relishing the freedom she'd never had. Relishing sex. Relishing carnage and blood and the beauty of death.  
  
In her life, it had pretty much always been one side or the other, good or evil, with a distinct red line running down in between. She always knew which side she played for. There was very rarely any question of it. Like a poker game, she simply played with the cards she was dealt. Some good. Some bad. Now however, there was no line. There were no cards in her hands. And Buffy felt the absence of those like a missing limb.  
  
Her baby and Cordelia were her only lifelines in this raging sea of emotions and instincts. They were all that helped her from caving into, to quote a Xanderism, the dark side. She had no idea what she would without them.  
  
Turn into a raving loony, probably. And that look was so last Fall.  
  
She stopped suddenly, thoughts disappearing quicker then smoke as she walked into a scene composed of two Ciamen demons, badly beaten and bruised, lying littered on the floor in front of her. Surprised, Buffy took in the scent of air once again, making sure that Cordelia had indeed been here. Sure enough, Buffy could pick up her faint traces and she easily connected the dots in her head, realizing that Cordelia had obviously done extremely well in fighting against them.  
  
Which was a surprise, to say the least.  
  
Yeah, Cordelia could take care of herself, but the type of force and power taken to beat up a Ciamen demon was, Buffy thought, out of Cordelia's ability. How had she beaten up these two demons? Something was fishy here, and no, she was not talking about the icky fish smell in the air. Buffy knew for a fact how Cordelia handled in a fight, and pure logic was telling her that Cordelia would have and should have lost this fight. How had the demons ended up on the fist's end, then?  
  
She sniffed once again, hoping she wouldn't be able to pick up the smell of Cordelia's blood in the air, but something else immediately grabbed her attention.  
  
"Cigarette smoke?" She questioned out loud, to herself.  
  
It was nothing too surprising considering her whereabouts, but for some reason, it rang warning bells in her head. There was a certain familiarity in this brand of cigarettes, and like a creepy sense of deja vu, she fought off the goose bumps that rose on her forearm.  
  
One of the demons stirred, and choosing to ignore her 'spidy-sense', Buffy's attention latched onto them. She shrugged off any weird feelings, and bent down to eye level with the demon, waiting for its attention to focus on her.  
  
It did. "Son of a bitch."  
  
"Hey," Buffy replied, feigning outrage. "I think I take offense to that."  
  
He tried to get up, but Buffy's hand shot out and held him in place.  
  
"Don't move," she ordered in a sweet voice. "I don't think this will take too long."  
  
"What do you want?" he asked, gruffly.  
  
"What do I want?" she repeated. She stopped and pretended to think about it. What did she want? . . "Well, for starters, a nice warm bath. Maybe a day at the spa, complete with a pedicure and facial. Perhaps even a massage, cause you know, these back pains really are starting to get to me. But you want to know what I want most of all?" she said sweetly, and pulled his face closer to hers. Even though most would have said the demon's face was the more intimidating of the two, it was the demon that had fear in its eyes. "It's for demon losers like you to just leave me and my kid alone. How's that for what I want? Think it's plausible?"  
  
"Your child should not be. It doesn't deserve to live," it replied, mustering courage. "It is an impossible abomination between two even greater abominations."  
  
Buffy fought off a swelling and nearly blinding surge of anger. "This from the seven foot demon that likes to mate with humans."  
  
"We are not--" "Shut up," she demanded, nearly snarling. "This isn't going to be a conversation about the ethics and habits of demon mating. I ask questions and you answer them. That's how it's going to work."  
  
"I will not--"  
  
"I don't recall asking you for your opinion," Buffy replied. "I ask, you answer. It's not a complicated system. Now, what happened to the brunette you were chasing after?"  
  
It paused for a second, then begrudgingly answered. "I don't know."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"I was too busy fighting the other one."  
  
Buffy eased her grip on him, and asked coldly, "What other one?"  
  
"The vampire in the black leather duster," he answered.  
  
"Vampire in a black leather duster?"  
  
That didn't sound good.  
  
"Yeah," he responded. "Some blond guy."  
  
"Some blond . . ." She trailed off.  
  
Some blond vampire with a black leather duster . . .  
  
Had she been human, her blood would have run ice cold. In a split second, everything fell into place. She knew now why the cigarette smoke had been so familiar. Why her skin had been all goosebumpy. Her body had been trying to tell her something. It had been trying to tell her that someone her body knew very well had been here recently.  
  
Spike had been here.  
  
Had she not been paying attention, she would have gleamed over the smell without a second thought. But now, looking for it, she picked up the long familiar scent of musk and leather and sweat, and all other things Spike, in the air. Even with the scent so vague, surrounded by so many other more pungent smells, she wondered how she could have ever missed it to begin with. At one time, she had known that scent better than her own.  
  
She tightened her grip on the demon unconsciously, and panic rose. Buffy's mind raced with questions, eventually settling upon those centered around the brunette.  
  
"Cordelia. Did he get Cordelia? Did he hurt her?!"  
  
"I told you I don't know!" the demon answered, struggling to get free of her grip. "We fought. He killed my friend, and then knocked me out. I don't know what happened to the brunette."  
  
"Then what do you know?"  
  
"Nothing!"  
  
Buffy eased her grip on him once again, and for some reason, even though she didn't need it, she was breathing harder. "Then I guess you're no good to me. And just to let you know, calling my baby an abomination was where you went wrong."  
  
She snapped his neck with an audible crack and dropped his body to the floor. There was no guilt this time. There was nothing but . . .  
  
Cold determination.  
  
She rose with a certain look of steel in her eyes. Spike had Cordelia. That meant Wolfram and Hart had Cordelia. Wolfram and Hart, the firm that had tried to kill them once already today. Who knew what they were doing to her now? She stepped over the demon's body with determination and walked over to the manhole nearby. Climbing the ladder and opening the top hatch, clear black sky greeted her. It was nighttime. She was free to move and go about the city as she wanted.  
  
And the first stop was Wolfram and Hart.  
  
She'd storm the castle if she had to. After all, who knows what insane torture they were subjecting Cordelia to right now?  
  
--  
  
Cordelia was being bombarded with chaotic hugs and kisses from all around.  
  
And soon after, Cordelia found herself sitting down in one of the plush leather chairs in an odd dreamlike state. She dabbed at her tear stained cheeks with a handkerchief Wesley had produced out of nowhere (and wasn't that just like him?), and looked around the room. The conference room seemed an odd place for the reunion to occur, but despite the formal and slightly unsettling surroundings of Wolfram and Hart that had her in hysterics a few moments ago, Cordelia now felt at ease enough to regain composure.  
  
But the thing was, when she felt her jittery nerves finally start to settle down, instead of feeling happy and elated, Cordelia suddenly began to feel inexplicably claustrophobic. Except with this type of claustrophobia, Cordelia felt trapped by the people in the room, not the walls. It wasn't the feeling she expected at being reunited with her long lost friends. Why was an event that was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of her life quickly dwindling into an apprehension the likes of which she'd never known?  
  
She was with her people again. It was supposed to bring warm and fuzzy feelings to her, not a type of dread that she related to life and death situations. This was the moment she'd been waiting for since the second she'd learned about this world. The script went, according to the rules she'd arbitrarily made up in her head, that when she found them, they hugged and kissed, and everything magically returned to normal just like before. Except, of course, with two additions: Buffy and her baby.  
  
Admittedly it was a naive ambition, and Cordelia never really thought it would come true, but she couldn't help but feel disappointed when it didn't. She didn't feel remotely at home. Why was that? These were her people!  
  
Well, okay. Not _technically_ her people_,_ but she forced herself to not worry about that right now. They looked the same. They had the same facial features. The same hands; some cold and others warm. They had the same smiles. And she was sure, given time, she'd see more and more deeper similarities.  
  
Why was it then, that she noticed so many differences right off the bat?  
  
Gunn, who was perhaps the most conspicuous in his differences, wore a suit. A suit! The man never wore anything besides street cloths in his entire life, with the exception of one seriously screwed up ballet concert, and here he was wearing an Armani suit. Armani. Nice, expensive – really nice, actually. The color suited him, too. – but that wasn't the point. The point was, Gunn didn't wear them. He liked sneakers, with gang-banger clothing and an attitude borne from growing up on the streets. The guy would never, in a hundred years, wear a suit.  
  
Except for the small minor exception of the present, where he stood in front of her with one on.  
  
It was superficial to notice, yes. But crucial. The clothes really did make the man, and judging by Gunn's surprising appearance, what sort of man was he? Whoever he was, Cordelia had the sinking feeling he wasn't the same man she knew from her home.  
  
And Wesley.  
  
He was the other one that had her tripping over herself. When she really looked at him, looked at him deeply with the eyes of an old familiar friend, she realized something surprising. She couldn't help but notice he wasn't as overly uptight in that British way she remembered. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, he seemed much more rugged and worn around the edges in a handsome way than the Wesley she knew.  
  
The Wesley she knew and loved was a total bookworm, one who thought being called 'Head Boy' was a good thing. Hopelessly naive and loving, she had always relied on his pure heart. He'd been handsome too, but in a classic sense of James Bond meets Alfred Pennyworth kinda way. Very different from the Wesley that stood before her now, who had a look in his eyes that told her he had more in common with Bruce Wayne now than his age-old butler.  
  
She wasn't sure if she liked that or not. Where was the Wesley with the ever-present glasses and the crisp English accent? Where was the person she'd come to see as closer than a brother? He was in there, right? Somewhere?  
  
Wesley turned to sit down next to Fred, blissfully unaware of her line of thinking, and Cordelia found her attention shifting to the petite brunette next to him in search of differences there, too. Outwardly, Fred seemed mostly the same. A slightly different haircut, but that was to be expected. But what about underneath the exterior? Was this Fred the same slightly- nervous-and-giddy-taco-fanatic-genius that confused and sometimes even weirded out Cordelia? There was no way to tell, yet.  
  
She must have stared a bit too hard or a bit too long, because Fred began to shift slightly under the scrutiny. Cordelia snapped her gaze away, as if embarrassed at being caught staring at a stranger across the room.  
  
Why the hell was she so nervous? These were her own people! Apart from the superficial differences, Cordelia knew that they had to be essentially the same. They just had to be. They had to be good and kind, and . . . .  
  
And in the end, wasn't that what really mattered?  
  
She decided to ignore the little voice in the back of her head that seemed intent on ruining her fragile hope. Intent on pointing out that the people around her weren't her people, no matter how much she wanted them to be. They were different. Hell, even if they were exact carbon copies of those she loved, they wouldn't be the same. Because the originals were six feet under or dust in the wind.  
  
Now that's what matters, the little voice whispered. How could she ever dream to substitute them?  
  
She forcefully blinked back the swelling tears in her eyes. This wasn't a fairy tale where the Princess returned to her castle and lived happily ever after. Nothing in real life ever turned out pretty and problem free. She knew that and this was no exception.  
  
It just hurt to realize it.  
  
"Here." Angel offered, suddenly popping up beside her and holding out a crystal glass. "Thought you'd like some water."  
  
He looked at her with such care and love, but the effect of it was diminished. Just as she realized they weren't her people, she realized she wasn't theirs. That look on his familiar face was directed towards somebody else. Another Cordelia. She could tell that their Cordelia had meant a lot to them, if the tears and hugs had been anything to judge by, but she didn't want to be taken as a substitute for someone else. She was herself and no one else. She deserved better than to live in someone else's shadow, even be that of her own.  
  
She flushed with uneasiness under his gaze, and took the glass without meeting his eyes because of it. Forcing her voice to sound light and carefree, as if she remembered what that was like anymore, she responded with the first flippant remark that came to mind. Hopefully, it wouldn't sound too forced.  
  
"You know, I'm not sure how water became the universal answer to calming down a hysterical person. Does it hold some type of wacky magical sedative I don't know about?"  
  
Wesley smiled from across the table, and Cordelia hoped it was genuine. She hated that she couldn't tell. "Ah, Cordelia humor. It's sad to say I actually missed that."  
  
"Of course you did," Cordelia responded. "Where would this group be without my sparkling, beguiling wit to keep you in check? . . . Oh wait, I know. Wolfram and Hart."  
  
"It's not what you think, sugar pie," Lorne rebutted, coming to stand beside her.  
  
"Okay. Since I don't think you're evil anymore, that leaves only one option. The law firm that represents most of the evil in the world has given its L.A. branch to you to run however you want, probably in an attempt to corrupt, divide, or destroy you. And you guys, being adoringly gullible as you are, think you can outsmart them at their own game. Only this time with lots of moolah and a big shiny building."  
  
"Okay, so it is what you think," Gunn agreed. "But in our defense, we think it too."  
  
"Then why haven't you burned the place down and run screaming in the other direction, yet?" Cordelia questioned.  
  
"Because Wolfram and Hart has the annoying habit of surviving anything, even a nuclear blast," Angel replied. "They're like roaches that way. And many other ways. The only way to kill this type of evil is from within."  
  
"So what? The plan is to kill the beast from its belly? You guys, this couldn't be a more obvious trap if they hung up a big banner on the building that said 'Do-gooders death trap. Die people, die!'"  
  
Wesley rolled his eyes and replied, although Cordelia was glad to note she at least recognized it wasn't with full confidence. "We have no delusions of this being an easy or quick fight. But given enough time and resources, we should be able to–"  
  
"–Die a painful and horrible death," Spike finished. "I've been saying that for months now. No one listens."  
  
"My sarcasm and disillusionment runneth over," Cordelia responded, flashing him a biting smile.  
  
Angel came to stand next to her, drawing her gaze away from Spike. "Guys, later. Wolfram and Hart isn't going anywhere. I think now would be a good time to get some answers." He crouched down next to her chair, softly asking, "What happened to you, Cordelia?"  
  
Cordelia took a deep breath and looked away. "I have no idea where to even begin."  
  
"I can help with that," Lorne said excitedly, raising his hands. "Just have Miss Breath of Fresh Air over here serenade me. Her aura's been screaming since the moment she woke up, but I'd prefer the unedited, Director's cut version of events. Give me one or two notes to clear up the picture, Muffin."  
  
"Oh, right," Cordelia responded, fidgeting. Great, singing. "Uh, let's see. . . Something simple, how about - Oh, I know! . . . Row, row, row your boat. Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. Life is but a dream. Row, row–"  
  
"Whoa," Lorne interrupted, raising his hands and turning a paler shade of green. "Rated R for violence, much? You got to warn a person before you do something like that!"  
  
"Something like what?" Cordelia asked, confused.  
  
"Something like seeing the bittersweet end of yours truly." Lorne said, downing his sea breeze drink in one gulp. "You know, I've read a lot of aura's in my time, but I've never seen my own untimely, and completely gory, death in them before. Can I say eww, scream like an eight-year-old girl, and add an ugh to that?"  
  
"What?" Everybody questioned, but Cordelia simply flinched.  
  
She realized exactly what he was talking about. He must have seen flashes of his counterpart's death reflected in her aura. The Lorne of her world, like practically everybody else she knew, had died a particularly violent death. It took more then a quick beheading to kill off a demon of Lorne's species, and Angelus took an obscene amount of pleasure in doing the job. When she was singing, he must have seen images of Angelus cutting off Lorne's head and then almost ritualistically mutilating his body. It was bad enough that he'd forced Cordelia to watch it happen, but now the sick bastard had succeeded in forcing Lorne to witness it, too.  
  
"You died?" Fred questioned, softly and slightly confused.  
  
Cordelia nodded, "In my world."  
  
"Along with everybody else," Lorne added, grimacing.  
  
He faced Cordelia with a certain disgust and horror reflected in his eyes that Cordelia had to turn away for a moment. She couldn't stand to see that look in his face, especially considering she'd seen enough of that particular dejection and loneliness in the Lorne from her world. She didn't want to see it on this face, too.  
  
This face was meant to be warm and friendly. Not worn and heavy. It wasn't right and Cordelia found her stomach twisting with the added weight of guilt.  
  
"I'm sorry, Lorne," She said, lamely. "I didn't know . . . I mean, I didn't realize you could–"  
  
"Save it, Sugar pie. You don't need to apologize. For anything," Lorne replied. He forced a smile on his face, and light tone to his voice. "It just caught me off guard, is all."  
  
Cordelia forced a smile in return, knowing that he probably saw a lot more then he wanted to, even with the bloody death scenes aside. He knew what she'd been through, and the way he looked at her now, with a certain knowing manner that had just a touch of respect and admiration in there, she felt better. Because someone else knew. Someone else besides Buffy understood, no matter how remotely, what it was like to be her.  
  
Because even though Buffy understood her better then she ever wanted to admit, her perception of Cordelia was always tainted by guilt. Lorne, however, saw Cordelia without any of those trappings. He saw her for who she was, and what she'd done, and he could still look her in the eyes with something that wasn't complete abject horror. It was insane how relieved she felt to discover that.  
  
She reached across and laid a comforting hand upon his green ones, squeezing once in reassurance. He responded by squeezing back, while the others looked at each other awkwardly, wondering what was passing between their two friends.  
  
"Should we leave you two lovebirds alone?" Spike piped up, shattering the lull of silence that had settled. "Oddly matched, yes. But who am I to deny the call of love?"  
  
"Shut up, Spike."  
  
"Oh, Peaches. You wound me with that dashing display of verbal assault."  
  
"I'll wound you with something, alright," Angel warned.  
  
"And you just keep dishing 'em out. It's amazing you haven't injured those two brain cells of yours."  
  
"That's two more than you have."  
  
"Is not."  
  
"Is too."  
  
"Is bloody not."  
  
"Is–"  
  
"Guys," Gunn cut in, "Focus. Just a little."  
  
"Geez. Are they always this bad?" Cordelia asked. "I feel like I'm in the middle of Dumb and Dumber. Only I'm not sure which one's dumber."  
  
Wesley smiled. "And this is them behaving well. Usually by now there's broken furniture."  
  
"And broken windows."  
  
"And broken vampires, too."  
  
"You know, we're standing right here," Angel cut in. "And need I remind you, I'm your boss."  
  
"Not mine, you're bloody well not," Spike responded. "I don't work for Evil Inc."  
  
"Yes and yet, you're still here. Is there a reason to that, besides utilizing valuable air and space?"  
  
"Sure is," Spike answered. "I wanna hear the bird's story. She ruined my extremely important plans of getting smashingly drunk. I figure she owes me a couple of hours of entertainment in payment. As soon as she starts with the explaining, that is."  
  
"I would," Cordelia put in, "But some vampires in this room, who will remain nameless, have to shut up long enough for me to do that. Honestly, what is it about souls that make vampires really lame? Even Buffy's the same way."  
  
Deafening silence greeted that statement.  
  
Cordelia realized the full weight of her words too late, because before she had the wits about her to recognize it, everyone stilled, seemingly shocked into silence. For a moment, it seemed no one even knew how to form words . . . then Spike turned comically confused.  
  
"Buffy?" he asked. "What does Buffy have to do with any of this?"  
  
"Uh, yeah," Gunn responded, shifting in unease. "We found out, that ah, well . . . along with Cordelia, some one else came, too–"  
  
"Buffy has a soul?" Angel questioned, softly.  
  
"Of course she does, you ponce." Spike responded irritably, although rather then the usual acidity behind his words, it was laced with confusion instead.  
  
Cordelia glanced at everyone in the room, taking in their varying degrees of uncertainty and confusion. Only Lorne seemed unaffected by the news, probably because he saw it coming. And Angel, although he had on his stoic face, looked deep in thought but not particularly surprised by the words. She wondered about that, and couldn't help but compare it to Spike's completely opposite response. It looked as if a thousand emotions were flashing through his face, and all of it was cloaked in confusion.  
  
That was to be expected, she supposed. Her conversation with Spike in the sewers flashed in her mind, and Cordelia recalled that he was utterly clueless to Buffy's involvement an hour ago. Nothing had changed in that department since and she could see why Buffy's name suddenly being mentioned would throw him for a loop.  
  
But what about the rest? They seemed strangely . . . she wasn't sure what they were, but it didn't compare to the confusion and - was that growing alarm? - on Spike's face. It lead her to one conclusion about the rest.  
  
"You guys know about Buffy and the 'grr' factor, don't you?" Cordelia asked.  
  
Three words popped into her mind. Wolfram and Hart.  
  
Wesley nodded, slowly. "Even the parts that make no sense whatsoever."  
  
"Right. Well, welcome to my world," Cordelia replied. "Untold danger, terror, and surprises for everyone. Where I come from, it's a regular three- for-one special."  
  
"Her baby," Angel said, looking at Cordelia for confirmation. "She gets her soul from her baby."  
  
Spike looked dumbfounded. "Her what?!"  
  
Cordelia sighed, "Sit down. This is going to take a while to explain."  
  
"No, no, no," Spike responded, without any trace of mirth. "Tell me what the bloody hell is going on right now, and what Buffy has to do with it, or I'll momentarily forget I have a soul."  
  
"Spike--" Angel warned.  
  
"Buffy came with me," Cordelia interrupted, before they could start up again. "From my world. I don't know what happened here, or what's she's doing in Italy, but from where I come from, she was turned into a vampire on her twenty-first birthday. She was real bitch, too. And I can regale you with her horrible deeds later, but right now the main thing you need to know is that she got knocked up seven months ago."  
  
"Buffy's a pregnant vampire?" Spike asked, slowly.  
  
It didn't look like he'd lose that dumbfounded look anytime soon.  
  
"How is that possible, though?" Wesley questioned, quickly stepping into Watcher mode. "The pure logistics of it are inconceivable. A vampire is a being with no living tissues or organs, it can't sustain life for itself. How can it possible bear another, much less nourish it with the nutrition and sustenance needed to grow into a proper fetus?"  
  
Cordelia shrugged. "Ask Buffy . . . or better yet, don't ask her. The confused look doesn't work well for her."  
  
"She hasn't been nourishing the baby," Angel contradicted. "The baby's been nourishing her."  
  
The odd and nonsensical statement was said in such a low and oddly knowing manner, that Cordelia didn't know how to respond to it. With a look in his eyes that seemed distant and painful, she wondered what was going on in his head. The baby's been nourishing her? Although, now that Cordelia thought about it, Buffy had once said something similar. She said that the baby was giving life to her, not the other way around.  
  
"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Spike questioned, looking at Angel with impatience. He must have picked up on the odd vibes coming off of Angel, as well.  
  
"Let me guess, Buffy's been confused. Disoriented?" Angel said, turning to Cordelia. "She's feeling emotions that aren't the norm for vampires. They're conflicting and confusing."  
  
"Almost to the point of schizophrenia," Cordelia answered.  
  
"These feelings that she's having, they're not hers. They're coming from her baby." Angel clarified, "From her baby's soul."  
  
"Good guess," Cordelia remarked.  
  
He was grasping onto the idea very quickly and with a remarkable understanding. It took Cordelia herself weeks to wrap her head around that concept and actually trust Buffy for even an iota of a second . . . How did he–  
  
"Who's the father?" Fred questioned, seizing her attention.  
  
Cordelia tried to hide the grimace, but somehow she knew she failed miserably. She forced a smile bright enough to blind onto her face, and started slowly. "Well, try not to actually run through the wall in your haste to retreat but . . ."  
  
Lorne quietly separated from the group to pour himself another drink. "And the shot heard round the world, ladies and gentlemen."  
  
". . . But Angelus is the father."  
  
"Bang," Lorne said, dramatically.  
  
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered.  
  
"Angelus?" Fred squeaked.  
  
"Dear lord!" Wes exclaimed.  
  
"Spawn of evil. I'm calling it right now," Gunn remarked.  
  
Angel didn't say a word the entire time. He simply blinked, then went back to his default stoic expression.  
  
That irked Cordelia to no end. He'd been oddly introspective and closed off since the second Buffy and her baby were mentioned, and while that wasn't a surprising reaction, Cordelia couldn't help but feel something was wrong. She knew he was the king of broodsville, but c'mon. She expected some sort of reaction for him, but no, it was almost like he was using all his energy to force himself not to show any reaction at all. Why was that? Did he think she'd think less of him if he showed surprise? Not likely. In fact, it was because he didn't show much shock that was causing Cordelia to get suspicious.  
  
She waited for the chaos around her to end, hearing other phrases tossed out like 'eight legged' and 'evil overlord before the age of three,' coupled with Spike's occasional British curse word. Finally, when things calmed down, she cleared her throat.  
  
"Buffy has a human child, complete with standard issue soul and a heartbeat." She clarified, "One head. Two legs. Two hands. And ten fingers and toes."  
  
"Is it evil?"  
  
Cordelia bristled a bit, quickly losing humor in the situation. "God, no. It made Buffy good. Its soul is all that stopping Buffy from returning to her former glory days. Whatever she's carrying inside her, it's going to be good, not evil. I can feel it."  
  
"Cordelia, I understand your desire for this child to be good," Wes began. "Well, actually I don't. You and Buffy never seemed the best of friends here, but that's beside the point. The point is, it is a child of two vampires."  
  
"Evil vampires," Gunn added.  
  
"We cannot dismiss the ramifications of that."  
  
"The PTB are protecting this baby," Cordelia replied, defensively. "Would they be protecting some big, up and coming evil? It changed Buffy for the better, Wes. You can't understand what that means, but trust me, it means something. This baby is not going to be evil."  
  
"And she came with you?" Spike questioned, stopping his sporadic pacing to face her with a very unhealthy dose of anger. "Buffy's here, now, with this baby? And you didn't tell me until now?"  
  
Cordelia eyes narrowed at his hostile stance, a spark of irritation kindling. "Need I remind you - biting. Poking. You weren't exactly acting like my best friend down in the sewers."  
  
"You bit her?" Angel asked angry, snapping out of his daze.  
  
"You poked her?" Wesley asked, confused.  
  
"What type of poking are we talking about here?" Gunn asked, grossed out.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "Yes, I bit her. And yes, I poked her." He eyes flickered towards Gunn. "And with my finger, you perv. But I didn't hurt her." He turned to look darkly at her. "My mistake."  
  
Cordelia eyes flashed with annoyance. She wasn't going to deal with Spike's anger for even an iota of a second, because the fact remained that she didn't deserve it. Looking back, yes, Spike could have been useful. Perhaps Buffy would have even been here, relatively safe and sound, if Cordelia had chosen to share the info. But 20/20 hindsight and all that junk, Cordelia didn't. She was honestly doing what she thought was right in the situation down in the sewers, given the information she had, and she would be damned if she was going to take this type of crap for it.  
  
"Look, Spike, glare at me all you want. But I didn't tell you because I thought I was protecting her. You wanna get pissed about that, fine, go ahead. But let me assure you right here and now, no one has more invested in Buffy's well-being than me." She glared, and looked pointedly at both the vampires. "And that's present company included."  
  
The looks on everyone's faces were priceless, especially Angel's.  
  
She could practically picture their minds reeling, wondering what could possibly make Cordelia so fiercely loyal to Buffy of all people. Truth to tell, Cordelia wasn't too sure of it herself. But somewhere along the way, during their completely painful and jarring journey together, which included not just traveling to this world, but all the trials and tribulations they'd suffered over the last couple of months, a friendship had formed. It happened when Cordelia wasn't even looking. And where once she'd seen an annoying blonde that was barely worth her time, now it was odd to say she saw her best friend. A soft ironic smile grew on her face at the thought, and Cordelia decided they needed to speed this up a bit.  
  
"Now, do you wanna hear my story or not? Cause we only have till nine o'clock to get everything settled."  
  
"What happens at nine o'clock?" Fred cautiously ventured.  
  
"I go to the Pavilion Shopping Center."  
  
"You're going to go shopping now?!" Spike questioned, enraged. "Are you bleeding daft? No way in hell are you going to go off traipsing for shoes while Buffy's out there--"  
  
"If you'll let me finish, Mr. Overreaction Much, I was saying, I'm going to the Pavilion Shopping Center at nine to meet Buffy. That's our meeting place."  
  
Spike stopped, then snorted in something that was halfway amusement and halfway annoyance. "A shopping center. Why aren't I surprised?" He grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'women.'  
  
Angel glanced down at his watch, and Cordelia saw with a tick of annoyance that his face was alight with eagerness. Some things never change.

"Well, that's still two hours away. Plenty of time." He paused, impatiently. "I'll just go wait in the car."  
  
"Oh no, you won't!" Spike replied, stopping him before he made a dash for the exit. "At least not without me. How thick do you think I am?"  
  
"Would like me to answer that or simply glare?" Angel responded.  
  
"You think you're gonna ride in, save the day, and sweep Buffy off of her feet? Not bloody likely. If anybody's going to be doing any sweeping, it'll be me."  
  
"I'll inform the janitors."  
  
"You do that, Peaches. Meanwhile, I'll just go and speak with Buffy--"  
  
"ENOUGH!" Cordelia screamed. "God, how did Buffy actually date any of you? It makes me question her state of mind just a little bit more."  
  
"This coming from the girl that was in crying hysterics thirty minutes ago." Spike replied.  
  
Cordelia's eyes narrowed. "Words cannot express how I feel about you . . . Stand by for gestures."  
  
"Whoa," Gunn said, "Okay. Everybody calm down. Geez, mention this Buffy chick and everybody goes Loony Tunes."  
  
Wesley nodded. "That seems about right."  
  
"Uh guys," Fred interrupted. "I hate to break up this . . . Jerry Springer moment, but did anybody else notice the employees?"  
  
"What about them?" Lorne questioned.  
  
"They're gone," she answered. "All of them."  
  
"What?" Wesley questioned, and glanced out the window to the lobby.  
  
No one was in sight.  
  
Angel quickly broke from the group and walked out of the conference room, leading everybody else behind him to what was now an abandoned lobby. Everything had been deserted in mid-work. The computer monitors were still on. The coffee cups were still warm. And the paperwork was still littered about.  
  
"Okay," Cordelia said, "Using my brilliant deductive reasoning skills, I'm thinking this is bad."  
  
"Shocker," Spike responded. "I think the bint's right."  
  
"Stop calling me that," Cordelia snapped.  
  
"Quiet," Wesley ordered with a raise of his hands as he looked down at the computer monitors. "The building's alarms have been triggered. Code Yellow."  
  
"Tell me that stands for happy, smiley faces," Lorne replied, hopefully.  
  
"It means unidentifiable threat, evacuate the building immediately." Wesley replied, looking around at the abandoned lobby. "It was issued three minutes ago."  
  
"You think one of the employees would have mentioned it to us," Fred pondered out loud.  
  
"Dammit, we're the bosses! Why don't people tell us these things?!" Angel grumbled, angry.  
  
"Maybe cause they're hoping that whatever baddy this is, it'll kill you all in a horrible and bloody fight," Spike answered. "Just a thought."  
  
"Or maybe they were too afraid to interrupt the shock-a-palooza in the conference room," Gunn muttered.  
  
"Whatever," Spike responded. "We don't have time for this. Let the baddies destroy the place. We need to get to Buffy."  
  
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Spike's right," Angel added, with just a bit of distaste. "All that matters right now is–"  
  
"Buffy," Cordelia said, wincing. "Oh, this is so like her."  
  
Everybody turned to look at her questioningly.  
  
"What about Buffy?" Angel asked, with a tint of anxiousness.  
  
"A pregnant vampire," Cordelia responded, with a sigh. "How much more 'unidentifiable' could you get?"  
  
--  
  
Buffy gracefully dropped down from the ceiling, tackling the clueless security guard below her and knocking him unconscious in the process. As she rose from the ground, she brushed off the dust she'd attracted while crawling through the building's air ducts. It had been an experience no seven month pregnant women should ever have to go through, but Buffy bore it with an annoyed air because it was the only way she'd get to the top level, the level she was fairly sure Cordelia was on, without being detected.  
  
She swiftly turned the corner and walked down the lavish and now vacant halls of Wolfram and Hart, feeling pretty secure in the fact that she'd taken down most, if not all, of the security guards on this level. While they had been far from inept, she'd dealt with each of them quickly and with relative ease, taking each of them out without any fatalities. They'd proven to be less then a serious threat. Although, she had to give them props on their security system. She'd been here less then ten minutes and already the building had issued an alarm, cleared the building of all personal, and dispatched several security teams to bring her in. And all she'd done to trigger that alarm was walk through the front door.  
  
Call her Percepto-Girl, but she had a nagging feeling she wasn't quite welcome here.  
  
Funny how she didn't care. She knocked out a few guards, idly walked through the evacuating mob of people, and figured her best route of finding Cordelia while avoiding detection was to go where people rarely looked. In the air ducts. It made her feel like Bruce Willis in that Die Hard movie.  
  
You know, if Bruce Willis had been a 160 pound pregnant vampire.  
  
She sighed, and rolled her shoulders to sooth the tight knots that had been forming in her neck all day. Her entire body was protesting loudly to this long day of abuse, but she trudged on, focused on one thing and one thing alone.  
  
Finding Cordelia.  
  
She was just glad the building had been evacuated. No one to deal with except . . . Buffy stopped short when she saw the door to the elevators ping open, and stared in bewilderment as she saw a very familiar and very out of place person emerge from behind.  
  
Harmony Kendall.  
  
What the hell was she doing here?  
  
The blonde vampire in question stopped dead in her tracks also, taking notice of Buffy with wide eyes. An expression Buffy knew Harmony was well familiar with fell on her face. Confusion.  
  
"You! You're that evil lookalike of Buffy!" Harmony exclaimed. "Ohh, Angel's so not going to . . . Hey, when did you get fat?"  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes, "I'm not fat, I'm . . ."  
  
She stopped herself before saying the word pregnant. She promised herself, no matter what the circumstances were, she would stop advertising the fact that she was a pregnant vampire. It just caused too many problems. And while most people would have difficulty figuring out she was a vampire, leave it to Harmony to have problems with the 'pregnant' part.  
  
". . . I'm slenderly challenged," Buffy finished, lamely.  
  
Harmony rolled her eyes back. "Yeah, and I'm . . . you know, something equally unlikely."  
  
"Cerebrally challenged?" Buffy ventured.  
  
"Hey!" Harmony replied indignant, and in a classic display of her intelligence, misunderstood the insult. "I'm not short! . . . And look whose talking, anyway. You're shorter then I am! Miss Shorty Pants!"  
  
Buffy sighed, and began walking away. "Harmony, I would love to stand here all day and engage in a battle of wits with you, but you seem to be a bit unarmed. Plus, I have other things to do."  
  
Harmony followed her. "Like getting your ass kicked by me."  
  
"Shockingly, no," Buffy replied. "That's not on my to-do list. What are you doing here anyway?"  
  
"I work here. Duh! Don't need to be a rocket surgeon to figure that out."  
  
Buffy started to feel a major headache coming on, and picked up her pace. Maybe she'd been spoiled in the banter department because of Cordelia?

"Harmony, you're the reason blonds like me get a bad reputation. I can't remember why I never killed you in my slayer days. Or even after my slayer days. You're annoying enough to inspire violence from Mahatma Ghandi!"  
  
"Who?" Harmony questioned. "And what do you mean your slayer days? You're just some loser, wannabe demon that looks like Spike's completely barf- inspiring obsession. You're not actually Buffy."  
  
Buffy fists clenched in annoyance, and she stopped to face her. "Oh, I so need to get out of this conversation. Can we get to the fighting now?"  
  
Harmony shrugged, "Okay."  
  
Then her face morphed into her vampire visage, and she attacked. While Buffy fended off the blows, she begrudgingly admitted that Harmony had improved her fighting skills. Not enough to stand against Buffy, of course, but decent enough considering the last time she'd seen Harmony, on her own world, the girl's definition of fighting involved severe hair pulling.  
  
Eventually, after a messy fight that had demolished every piece of furniture in the vicinity, including one wooden desk, Harmony ended up pinned to the ground. Buffy retrieved the desk's wooden leg from nearby, and held it over her menacingly.  
  
"If this is because I called you a loser, wannabe demon," Harmony began, nervously. "I can apologize."  
  
"Sorry, Harmony," Buffy said, surprised to found that she did indeed feel slightly sorry. "But you're one of the bad guys."  
  
Harmony, evil and brainless vampire or no, was still somebody Buffy had known for years. It didn't seem quite right to be dusting her like this, but Buffy ignored the disturbing feeling, chalking it up to another one of her schizophrenic instincts.  
  
"But I'm not bad, honest!"  
  
Buffy ignored this and her hand, clasped firmly around the stake, came down squarely over Harmony's heart . . . Only to be stopped and held still by a firm masculine grip an inch away from its target. Buffy looked up surprised into the eyes of the person that had stopped her, and recognized them immediately without hesitation.  
  
"Angel," she exhaled, surprised.  
  
"Oh thank you, boss!" Harmony exclaimed.

Too stunned and overwhelmed for words, Buffy let down her guard for a split second and the next thing she knew, she was roughly pinned against the wall. She vaguely heard Harmony's relieved and cheery voice from yards away, but didn't register the words. All her attention was focused on the man, the vampire, that held her in place. His dark eyes boring into hers.  
  
"Buffy," he breathed; strained, painful, and relieved all at the same time. "I'm not going to hurt you. Please God, believe me. I'm not Angelus . . . I'm--"  
  
"Angel," Buffy cut in, softly. "Yeah, I got that."  
  
A flicker of relief and surprise crossed his face, but Buffy focused only on his dark chocolate eyes. There, in the dark recesses where few ever looked and fewer even noticed, was the spark of something Buffy knew too well. Angel's eyes always had been windows to his soul, and since she'd been in the unique position of seeing them intimately both with and without said soul, she knew the difference.  
  
"You don't think I'm evil?" He asked, hopeful. "You know I'm not Angelus?"  
  
Evil? That was still under debate. But the soul? That was hands down present.  
  
"You don't think I can tell the difference between the demon and the man?" Buffy said, voice shaking. "I'll have you know--"  
  
He cut her off.  
  
. . . With a kiss.  
  
--


	7. Finally

A/N

Thanks to all those that reviewed. I've noticed that there are a handful of people that review ever chapter, you know who you are, and I greatly appreciate it. You have no idea who much I look forward to your reviews and invest in their imput. This Chapter is especially dedicated to those sepecial people. . . .N170017. Giggleboxsam. Kristie. SlayKitten91. Fishergirl. ShawThang. MysticWolf. Ashleigh. And if I forgot someone, please forgive me. I'm only doing this off memory.

To prove how much I invest in your imput, let me cite something. My Beta MadelineFate humbly told me that these chapters were getting a little too emotional and much preferred the next chapter to be lighthearted. I am following through with that. I just felt, that these last three chapters should be believable to the shock and overwhelming feelings inherent in this situation. But now that I've covered that, and dropped more clues on Buffy and Cordelia's home reality, I can return to the regularly programmed events.

Next chapter will be ligththearted, MadelineFate, I promise.

Also, I'm probably going to be updating every 10-14 days. So, if I go a while without updating, don't fear, I haven't abandoned this fic.

--  
  
Chapter Seven . . .

She resisted against his kiss . . . for all of two seconds.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she melted in his embrace.She couldn't help it. She tried, really, to listen to the voice in the back of her head that said this was so wrong, on multiple levels, with reasons that seemed to grow exponentially as time went on, but the voice was inevitably betrayed in the favor of one kiss.One painfully beautiful kiss, that seemed to last till the end of time . . . and still seemed too short.

"Oh, eww boss. She's just a lookalike!" Harmony's voice broke in, breaking the overwhelming spell.

Buffy forcefully broke away, hand pushing against his broad chest in a desperate attempt to regain logic. He reluctantly allowed her to, and when she looked back at him, damn if her first instinct she wasn't to pull him back in and kiss him senseless again. But she determinedly rebelled against her treacherous body. Her strength in will power had grown significantly over the last few months, and this was a testament to that.A big freakin' testament.He looked slightly flushed. "We've gotta stop meeting like this," he muttered, amused."Huh?" Buffy replied, lamely.He shook his head, dispelling the question, and Buffy let it go. Her body was still rushing with too much adrenaline to think, and as much as she tried to stop it, it was responding to Angel's close proximity with a tingly sensation she'd long ago forgot. He seemed equally effected, but when he glanced down at her swelling stomach, a somber expression settled onto his face. He looked back up at her with clear brown eyes, drenched in that painful love only Angel and not Angelus possessed."You look absolutely stunning," he whispered in reverence, placing an intimate hand on her stomach. "I always knew you would."She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back wall, as an overwhelming urge to break down and cry came over her. Damn it, why could he always reduce her to a crying mess? Feeling his cool hands on her stomach, hearing his words, and still tasting the flavor of his kiss on her lips were all bounding together and wreaking havoc with her emotions. She fought for control and tried to clear her mind."Uh, boss," Harmony questioned, "What's going on?""This is Buffy," Angel answered, softly. "From an alternate reality."Buffy's eyes snapped open. "How did you know?"But before he could answer, realization and reality quickly dawned on her. The one word she'd been chanting to herself as a mantra these last few hours, the one that had been forgotten for only the brief span of the last minute, came rushing back to her.Cordelia.And with that word came a swell of emotions.Betrayal. Shame. Fear. Disgust—with herself.Cordelia had been kidnapped, probably by the command of the very same man standing in front of her right now, and Buffy had decided to punish him by what, giving him a good tongue lashing? A derisive laugh echoed in her mind. Some friend you are, it whispered with disgust. A sweet kiss and all's forgiven and forgotten. It must sound awfully familiar.The painful memory came back to taunt her just as it always did. Angelus seducing her in the Hyperion, and even after putting her through hell, she allowed him to succeed. The soul may now be present, but the guy still used the same tricks. And why not? She fell for them every time. He always knew how to work around her defenses.Why could she never got off this merry-go-round of knives?But before the full weight of shame, anger, and determination could fully settle onto her, the side doors burst open, and Buffy's mind came crashing back to confused reality in full force. Several familiar faces—people who, to Buffy, were living ghosts that drenched her in an ice cold bucket of guilt—entered the room. Wesley, Fred, Gunn, and Lorne. Her mind reeled back in shock, caught up with that significantly important observation.They were in Wolfram and Hart."What the hell are you guys doing here?" Buffy asked, shocked.The one Buffy knew the least of, the guy named Gunn, raised his eyebrows at Buffy and Angel's close proximity. "We could ask you guys the same thing."Buffy looked down at her hand laying flat against his shoulder, and his hand lying flat against her stomach, and realized the intimate poise they were in. She snapped her hand away as if on fire and moved away from the corner Angel had pinned her against. She didn't need to see his face to sense the hurt that flickered across it.Wesley and the others stopped and gathered around her. "Is everyone alright?" he questioned, looking around the decimated room.Harmony, whom Buffy had entirely forgotten about, snorted from behind them. "Yeah, everything's just peachy here. These two were just in the middle of—""Talking!" Buffy cut in, sparing a pointed glance towards the blonde. "We were just talking."Not surprisingly, Harmony missed the point. "Yeah, right! With your lips maybe . . . Oh wait, you do talk with your lips. With your tongues? No, that doesn't work either. What's a good innuendo here?"Angel shifted, from embarrassment or annoyance, Buffy wasn't sure. She tried to make herself not notice or care."What the hell is going on here?" Buffy demanded, growing frustrated. "I've had a really bad day today, people. I'm a hair's length away from completely losing it. So somebody, I don't care who, better start giving me answers now, or body parts will start flying.""So, this is Buffy, huh?" Fred whispered quietly to Wesley. "Somehow, I expected her to be more . . . mentally stable.""A tad naive, don't you think?" Wesley replied."Where's Cordelia?" Buffy demanded, ignoring the byplay. "If you harmed one hair on her annoying little head, I'll--""How affectionate," Cordelia remarked dryly, walking into the room at a casual pace. "With clever little endearments like those, you should seriously think about getting a job for Hallmark.""Cordelia?" Buffy questioned, confused.She wasn't hurt, scared, or bound and gagged. Not that Buffy would have minded the last one much."No, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past," she responded, irritably. "Of course, I'm Cordelia! And you can relax, Miss Slay Everything In Sight, these people aren't evil. Disturbingly misguided by delusions of grandeur, but not evil."Had it been anyone else, Buffy would have dismissed the statement without a second thought. But it wasn't anyone else. It was Cordelia—. . . Wait, maybe it wasn't."And I'm supposed to trust you? You could be Cordelia's evil twin from this Bizarro World," Buffy responded. "How am I supposed to know the difference?""Because the Cordelia of this reality is dead," Angel said softly, drawing her attention.Surprised, and not sure how to respond to those words, all she could do was stare at the expression on Angel's face. She knew every tick and nuance of his features, every pitch and timber of his voice, had even become an expert on it over the years, and everything was telling her that Angel's words were true, and it was a fact that cut him deeply. The expression on his face seemed too genuinely painful.An evil Angel wouldn't have been so hurt by the news of Cordelia's death, but the Angel in front of her had this pain in his eyes that would last for a long, long time. Why was that? What vital clue was she missing here? Standing there, looking at Angel's face while surrounded by the AI gang and Cordelia, she felt like everyone was in the joke except her.She had no idea what the hell was going on at Wolfram and Hart, but there was more to this story than what was meeting her eyes. The AI team was here, in Wolfram and Hart. It was almost comical to think of them as evil lawyers. They were, like, the LA's version of the Scoobies. That in and of itself was too high on the 'huh, what the hell is going on?' scale, but the expression on Angel's face was what sealed the deal for her.She could tell a lot from his stoic face, as she knew few others could. And what it was telling her made the paranoid and suspicious voice in the back of her head, the one that questioned Angel and Wolfram and Hart, the one that had been belittling herself just moments before, begin to seriously question what was going on here.How could Angel, so anguished by the death of this world's Cordelia, surrounded by his loyal friends, be evil?Could this all be an act?She wanted to believe that this Angel was good, as all her instincts and emotions were suddenly telling her, but she couldn't ignore the fact that these feelings probably stemmed from crazed hormones and wishful thinking. The last few months had made it abundantly clear that she couldn't always trust her gut instinct anymore.She turned to look back at Cordelia, judging if it would be easier to tell fact from fiction by watching her expressions. But when she did, it was surprising to say that Buffy had a harder time reading Cordelia's face then Angel's.Cordelia had for some reason erected a cold, emotionless mask onto her face.Why? Buffy silently questioned, surprised by the sudden change in Cordelia's demeanor. And then the answer came back to her like a swift kick. Could it be, dumbass, that she's upset because you and Angel were locked in a staring contest for the last minute? You know how she feels about him, and you're here once again, not five minutes in, making moon eyes at him. Not to mention the oh-so-not-innocent kiss you shared.Damn.Smooth move, Summers."Sorry," Buffy stammered out, trying to cover up quickly. "I just have no idea what to think right now. It's like I'm having flashbacks to high school calculus," she lamely joked."Don't you trust me?" Cordelia questioned, annoyed.Buffy nodded, reluctantly. "If in fact you're you, as in my-you, and not the other you from this reality."Cordelia sighed, "It's equally touching and disturbing that I actually understood what you just said."Buffy silently agreed."Fine. Ask me something only you and me would know," Cordelia added, impatiently.Buffy paused, then nodded her agreement with the plan. Simple, yet effective. She'd have to ask an obscure little question though, something easily overlooked."My favorite pregnancy-induced dish is what?"Cordelia wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Spinach dip and vanilla ice cream.""Don't knock it till you tried it," Buffy chided."I haven't tried the Bubonic Plague, either," Cordelia responded, glibly. "Somehow, though, my aversion to it won't wane. Funny, that."This was her Cordelia, no doubt about it. The tone and attitude was just too hard to fake. Buffy closed her eyes in relief, feeling herself relaxing infinitely as she realized her main goal for the day was achieved. Cordelia was safe and sound, and apparently vouching for Wolfram and Hart.Weird yes, but Buffy found that a not so tiny part of her was fine with that. She was more then willing to accept that these people weren't evil . . . Perhaps, even, a little too enthusiastic in her willingness.But after going through so much chaos, was it so wrong she wanted something to go right? Something to be simple? It could lift a small portion of that heavy weight off her shoulders. She could wait for an explanation now, she told herself calmly. She could have the luxury of being patient, and simmering down on the over-violent tendencies. Things wouldn't have to be hectic and chaotic if she could just rest for a little while. Be safe for _just a little while_. Was that really too much to hope for?After all, not everything had to be so complicated, right?Wolfram and Hart . . . not evil.Okay, maybe this would be complicated, too. But at least she could rest.The only problem with relaxing even for a moment, Buffy immediately amended, was that now that she see Cordelia, take in her well being with her own eyes, the immediate threat and overbearing guilt was temporarily over. Her primary motivation for getting through this day had been removed, and she felt her body slowly come out of its danger mode as if a switch had been flipped. Which kinda sucked when she thought about, because all the aches and pains she'd been ignoring suddenly demanded her undivided attention.Damn, this had been one long day in Hell. She was, no pun intended, dead tired."You okay?" Cordelia questioned, concerned."The words 'road kill' mean anything to you? Cause I'm suddenly feeling very empathetic to their pain," Buffy replied. "You?"Cordelia paused. "Well, you remember two months ago when we were being chased by a mob of vampires, and I was sure we were going to die a painful and agonizing death?""Yeah.""That was loads of fun compared to today," Cordelia responded, then somberly dropped her light note and looked at Buffy hard. She must not have liked what she saw. "I'm serious, Buffy, they're not evil. You can relax.""Just out of curiosity, by what definition of evil are we going by?" Buffy joked.Angel, however, took her question to heart. "A saner one than your definition of 'talking.'" He replied pointedly, and Buffy forced down her resulting wince. "I thought you said you knew I wasn't evil."Buffy shifted, uneasily. "I never said that. I said I knew you weren't Angelus. And then I got . . . distracted.""Yeah, distracted with your . . ." Harmony began excitedly, then stopped to think and responded, annoyed. "No, that doesn't work either. Damn innuendos."Buffy froze.Please don't let Cordelia know, she prayed silently."Harmony," Wesley quickly interrupted, "Why don't you go and inform the other employees that the threat is over. Have them return to work."Harmony's shoulders sagged, "Fine, I'll get the slave workers here . . . Oh, and hey, Cordelia! Love your hair. It's like you don't care the look's five years old, you're doing it anyway. It's so daring!"Cordelia greeted her back with ambiguity, "Hey, Harmony. It's . . . puzzling to see you here."Harmony smiled, "I get that a lot."She left, and Buffy heaved a sigh of relief. For a second there, she thought Harmony was going to spill the beans on her and Angel. For obvious reasons, she desperately didn't want Cordelia to know about that kiss. It would have undoubtedly built an awkward wall between their friendship, and that was the last thing Buffy wanted.Cordelia picked up on it, "What's up with that look?""What look?" Buffy replied, innocently."That look on your chubby little face." Cordelia replied, "I know that look. It's guilty and oddly relieved at the same time."Buffy grew agitated, and quickly deflected the question. "I do not have a chubby little face.""Oh, please," Cordelia snorted. "I keep wondering how long you're going to store those nuts for winter."Buffy narrowed her eyes. "There has to be some genetic explanation for your annoying tendencies. Your type of evil is born, not made.""I don't think you should be the one talking about evil, here," Cordelia replied."I hate you.""You just say that.""Repeatedly," Buffy agreed.From the corner of the room, the group of people that had remained mere spectators to the Cordelia-and-Buffy Variety Hour Special stepped forward, seeing that the violence part of the evening was over. Most likely, anyway. With Buffy in the equation, you could never really tell. Fred was the first to introduce herself as she nervously waved hello, while Buffy's stomach immediately began to spasm with unease."We've never actually met," she began, excitedly. "But I've heard so many . . . well, actually I've heard only vague things about you. But it's still nice to finally meet you! I'm Winifred Burkle, but everybody here calls me Fred."Buffy knew all this, of course, but she didn't have it in her to stop the bubbly brunette. Nor the green demon that came next."And I'm Lorne. I feel like I'm meeting a celebrity! Angel and Spike didn't give you justice for your looks, Sweet Pie. You're cuter than a newborn babe on Christmas Eve! And speaking of babies, when's the little bun going to be done baking in that oven of yours?"Buffy shifted, uneasily. "Two months.""My name's Gunn." The man next to Wesley introduced himself, with an easy smile. "I hear you kick some serious ass. I've been waiting for someone to teach these Fang Brothers some lessons."Buffy shared an uncomfortable knowing glance with Cordelia, and the brunette seemed to read her thoughts before Buffy had even formed them.She smiled, nervously. "Guys, she knows who you are. She met the other yous in our reality."That was an understatement, Buffy thought with a shudder. She could still hear Fred's screaming in her head. She could still taste Wesley's blood on her lips. She knew more about them than she ever wanted to admit. Like the sight of Lorne's dismembered body, or the sound of Gunn's last words.You'll get yours in the end, Angelus.Hear no evil. See no evil. Do no evil. She failed on all accounts. It was gut wrenching now to remember how much she'd enjoyed every second of their torture. Standing by Angelus's side while he systematically killed those Angel had loved the most, she remembered feeling the rush of a good kill. Her guilty conscience loved pointing that out to her as she was forced to greet them back."N-nice to meet you all." Buffy stammered out, without meeting anyone's eyes.And the Hypocrite of the Year Award goes to . . . Buffy Summers! Killing one year, then politely greeting hello to them the next. If there was a more demeaning thing she could do right now, she couldn't think of it. It was a low point, even for her. Sure, she was all too familiar with this guilt, felt it worst when she could hear Cordelia call out their names in her nightmares, but that was nothing compared to meeting her ghosts in flesh form. It twisted that well-deserved knife in her gut just a little bit more.And like a game of racquetball, they sensed her uneasiness and volleyed it back to her."You must be very tired," Wesley said awkwardly, walking closer. "Is there anything we can do? Do you need first aid?""Seriously, Buffy," Cordelia agreed. "You do look like hell on one of its bad days. I'm not there to chaperone you for three hours and you already look like a mess.""Cordelia, you're not one to talk," Buffy replied, annoyed. "I swear you go from zero to trouble in 3.8 seconds flat, so don't lecture me on the finer points of well-being and safety. Besides, I said I'm fine."Although, that was a complete lie. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this bad. There were aches in parts of her body she didn't even know she had.Harmony chose that moment to reenter the room, "Workers are back. They're . . . Hey, what are you doing back there, Spi–""Are you sure?" Fred quickly interrupted, eyes strangely wide with nervousness. Her eyes flickered behind Buffy for some reason, and snapped back to her. "About that first aide, I mean. It's no problem. We love to help. That used to be our logo, you know. Help the hopeless. Not that you're hopeless, of course. No siree, you look mighty hopeful to me."She laughed nervously, and Buffy was sharply reminded of Willow-in-fidgety-mode. She pushed aside that painful thought quickly, and responded. "Thanks. That was nice. And somewhat random."Oh God, they were going to be nice to her. Nice in a weird way, yes, but still nice.That thought distracted her immensely.

She'd helped kill them in another world, and now they were being pleasant to her. This had to be someone's ingenious way of putting her though hell. She didn't deserve their tolerance, much less their hospitality, and the ensuing bite of guilt started to eat away at her slowly. She'd be damned, though, if she was desperate enough to take advantage of people who had no idea what she was capable of, what she'd done to them, in another world. She wanted to act like nothing was wrong, and so she forced a look of indifference on to her face.

Which in reality, she reflected, probably made her look constipated, instead."Buffy—" Angel began, coming up to her.She instinctively recoiled, choosing to casually move and lean against the wall instead of allowing Angel anywhere near her. She spared a quick glance at Cordelia who was watching them the entire time. Out of loyalty to the one friend who'd stood by her all this time for reasons beyond all logic, Buffy ignored the flash of hurt that crossed Angel's face once again. It was difficult, but she did it."I'm kinda hungry, though," Buffy quickly added, trying to be casual.And now that she thought about it, she really was hungry. When was the last time she'd had blood? Too long, which was not good for a mother-to-be. Add to that the level of abuse her body had been through today, it was miracle she was still standing.But then again, miracle was practically her baby's name."Of course," Wesley quickly agreed, "Harmony, could you get Buffy some blood?"Harmony nodded. "No problemo. I've got oodles of blood back at the Employee Lounge."

Buffy looked over at Harmony, and raised an eyebrow. "They have that many vampires working here? How is this place not evil? They hire vampires. And speaking as one, that's generally an evil thing to do."

Harmony huffed, "Well, I'm sorry. But not every vampire here can be blessed with a soul. I try really hard to be good! Just because Angel and Spikey have souls, and it's easier for them, doesn't mean--""Spike?" Buffy interrupted. "What was that about Spike and a soul?"She must have heard wrong, cause Spike–"Hello, Luv."Buffy froze, her body going rigid completely on its own accord. For the second time today, a feeling of deja-vu washed over her again. That voice, those words. There was no question of who it was, she couldn't mistake him for somebody else even if she tried. He was just _that _unique. Forcing herself to stay calm, she goaded her muscles into moving and started to slowly turn herself around. When she did, she found the person she knew would be standing there."Spike," she said, feeling foolish for not knowing what else to say."Long time, no see," he responded, easily.He was trying to be nonchalant, but Buffy could easily see through that disguise. She was probably one of the few who could tell that when he tipped his head to the side and smiled slightly, his seemingly carefree eyes were actually devouring the sight of her like a dying man's last sip of water. She was too familiar with that look to mistake it for anything else.Throughout the day, although she'd tried to avoid thinking about it, she'd unconsciously been trying to prepare herself to confront the two most important vampires in her life. Angel and Spike. She thought that there would be punches and kicks, and perhaps some witty sexual innuendos traded here and there, but ultimately it would have been an unpleasant experience. But not like this. Not anything like this. Things turned out to be so very different from what she'd expected.A stolen kiss from Angel, and staring speechless at Spike from across the room.Life was funny that way. But why were the PTBs so obsessed with making her life such an epic joke?"I hear you're a vampire with a soul now," he added hesitantly, stepping forward. "Whaddya say we start a bloody club?""Spike," she began, "I . . ."She still had no idea what to say to him. It was like the power of speech had suddenly left her, and her mind, which had been struggling all day to stay afloat in a storm of intense emotions, was finally overwhelmed.It made everything so blurry and hazy.Blame it on the obscene amount of blood loss she'd suffered today from various injuries. Blame it on the fact that she hadn't eaten in over 20 hours, and her pregnant body had finally rebelled. Blame it on the shock of seeing Spike and Angel and everyone else after so long, even though she knew for a fact she was going to run into them eventually. Blame it on an emotional overload for an already emotional person.Blame it on whatever you want, but the timing had been something to note.

Buffy fainted. And she vaguely realized, before the blackness took her over, that she welcomed it with relief.

-- 


	8. Burden

Chapter 8  
  
--  
  
As the first flickers of consciousness woke Buffy up, she felt herself nestled in a warm and comfortable bed. The soothing feeling of waking up refreshed was a thing of pure bliss, and although long forgotten, it safely lulled Buffy into a sense of peace. But then, as she slowly opened her eyes, that passive feeling started slowly withering away as she found herself occupying a strange, if stylishly decorated, room.  
  
Where the hell was she?  
  
In a state of groggy confusion, and then sudden realization, the memories came flooding back and Buffy had to bite down the frustrated moan that threatened to come with them. Wolfram and Hart. Angel and Spike. The two, not surprisingly, didn't equate peace. Still, it was embarrassing to the nth degree that she'd fainted. Big bad Buffy, fainting.  
  
Cordelia was never going to let her hear the end of this.  
  
She pulled herself slowly up into a sitting position, placing a hand unconsciously on her stomach, and found that the expected aches and pains she'd previously felt were all but gone. Her muscles weren't sore. Her head wasn't lightheaded or pounding. And she felt not the slightest bit hungry.  
  
Hmm. Interesting, Buffy noted with surprise. Apparently, she should try fainting more often. It does a body good.  
  
Cordelia chose that moment to enter the room from the balcony doors at the side, and Buffy winced as the harsh light of midday sun quickly spread through a good portion of her room. Cordelia saw this, winced herself, and quickly closed the doors.  
  
"Sorry!" she said, a look of odd relief on her face. "You're awake."  
  
Buffy rubbed at her eyes. "Yeah, just barely."  
  
Cordelia stepped closer, and Buffy could feel the weight of her stare on her. "You look good," she commented, after a moment of intense scrutiny.  
  
Buffy snorted in disbelief. "Men wake up as good-looking as they went to bed. Women somehow deteriorate during the night. You know that."  
  
"No, trust me. You're looking heaps better then before."  
  
"I guess I feel that way, too," she replied, simply.  
  
She looked up at Cordelia, finding the brunette's unwavering stare upon her, and noted that Cordelia seemed fairly well rested and healthy, too. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Cordelia without the bags under her eyes and the paler white complexion. This Cordelia had a rejuvenated look to her.  
  
Her refreshed countenance was replaced by annoyance. "Well, it's about time! Do you have any idea how long you've been sleeping?"  
  
Buffy paused considering, then ventured cautiously against the irritated look on Cordelia's face. "A long time?"  
  
"A long time? Try two days, Missy!"  
  
Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "Two days? Wow, I guess I was . . . pretty tired."  
  
"Tired," Cordelia repeated, incredulous. "Tired is what you feel when you go to sleep for 12 hours strait. Two days is a coma!"  
  
Buffy couldn't help it. She smiled. "Somebody was a worry-wort while I was sleeping," she teased.  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I even bothered. Do you have any idea what kind of hell I've been through in the last two days? Worrying about you is a full time job!"  
  
"I'm sure," Buffy replied, easily enough. "I like your new hairstyle."  
  
The distraction worked like a charm, as Buffy never doubted it would.  
  
"Oh yeah, you like? I got it done yesterday at the mall–" Cordelia began excitedly, then turned slightly defensive in realization that she'd been sidetracked. "Um, you know, between the spouts of deep-seeded concern and turmoil I was having!"  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow.  
  
Her shoulders sagged. "Okay, fine. I went out on the town for a bit. You were sleeping for two days strait. Was I suppose to fuss over you like Florence Nightingale the entire time?"  
  
Buffy smiled, "No. I'm glad you didn't."  
  
"It doesn't mean I wasn't concerned, you know," she replied, still looking a tad bit defensive.  
  
"I'm sure you were."  
  
"I was considerate enough to buy you some stuff, too. God knows you need some new clothes. And new taste. And I, in my completely benevolent style, decided to you help with that. You should be thankful."  
  
"That you went shopping while I was in a coma?" Buffy questioned, slightly incredulous.  
  
"You weren't in a coma," Cordelia rebuffed, heatedly. "You were just really tired."  
  
"Cordelia, relax," Buffy responded, amused. "I get it. You had some fun while I was having some down time. No need to feel guilty over it."  
  
Cordelia shrugged her shoulders and sat down at the edge of Buffy's bed. "I wouldn't say fun, exactly."  
  
"Whadja do?" Buffy asked, curious.  
  
"In the last two days, you mean?"  
  
"Yeah, you know, while I was suffering in a debilitating coma," Buffy goaded.  
  
Cordelia narrowed her eyes, but otherwise ignored the dig. "Nothing special. Just a little shopping and sleeping."  
  
Buffy paused in disbelief. "You went shopping and it wasn't fun? Who are you and what have you done with the real Cordelia?"  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Just out of curiosity, you know you're not actually witty, right? You're not actually suffering from any self- delusions about that?"  
  
"No," Buffy dead panned. "My self-delusions stem from a constant and exaggerated sense of my own importance. I know I'm not funny."  
  
Cordelia cracked a smiled, "Oh, well. As long as we're clear on that issue."  
  
"Crystal," Buffy agreed.  
  
They paused, eyeing each other. Then, uncharacteristically, they both bursted out laughing for reasons neither of them would have been able to explain. In a mutual moment of slight lunacy, they laughed so hard about virtually nothing that Buffy's side started hurting. It felt good just letting loose for one second. The last couple of days - oh, who was she kidding? - the last couple of months had been far too serious for either of their likings. And sitting here, in a warm room, snuggled in a comfortable bed, with Cordelia in front of her, Buffy could easily delude herself into feeling secure and carefree . . . even if slightly stupid.  
  
"What is wrong with us?" Cordelia asked rhetorically, between laughs.  
  
"I don't know," Buffy replied anyway, wiping away the tears of laughter. "I have insanity as my defense. What's yours?"  
  
"Peer pressure," Cordelia answered, immediately. "I have the worst taste in friends."  
  
Buffy eyes glinted with feigned offense. Then she grinned. "Well, whadya know? Another thing we have in common," she joked.  
  
And thing of it was, Buffy knew, that jokes aside, they really did have a lot in common. The thought drove her into a tangent. Their lives, although totally divergent at first glance, were two of a kind. After all, how many Valley Girls and Prom Queens transformed into warriors? How many of them fought in a war they neither had expected nor sought? How many of them has similar taste in guys, of the undead variety? How many had suffered so many loves and losses? And how many of them would have survived what they went through?  
  
Not many, Buffy knew.  
  
Cordelia gasped, unaware of Buffy's thoughts. "Let's order some room service!"  
  
"We can do that?" Buffy replied, visibly snapping out of her revere at the thought of food.  
  
"We have at our fingertips the resources of the biggest law firm in L.A. I think they can scrounge up some blueberry pancakes and blood in short notice. If not, we can have somebody fired," Cordelia reasoned.  
  
"Sounds like a plan," Buffy agreed.  
  
They spent the next ten minutes arguing over what to order, then eventually settled on ordering everything they wanted. It was easier that way, and no bickering was involved. When the food arrived, which was ushered by someone who was no doubt a lowly (and slightly nervous) paralegal, Buffy noted they had enough food to feed an overweight army of Weight Watchers dropouts.  
  
"Perfect," Cordelia commented, and they both began to eat.  
  
In addition to her regular liquid diet of blood, Buffy stuffed herself with all sorts of food. She found, that despite her taste buds taking a drastic change in the human food department, she still enjoyed eating a select few entrees. She could still savor specific flavors (some more then others), and never hesitated about mixing and matching odd items of food to meet her unique and differing pregnancy-induced cravings. Much to Cordelia's disgust. But it took an ingenuity beyond Cordelia's capability, Buffy reasoned, to create such masterpieces.  
  
"You know, I'm still convinced chocolate is a vegetable." Buffy said, opening a bar of chocolate and dipping it in yogurt.  
  
"Let me guess, this is your crazy logic working overtime, right?" Cordelia questioned.  
  
"No, I'm serious. Think about it. You got chocolate, which is derived from cacao beans. Bean = vegetable. Sugar is derived from either sugar CANE or sugar BEETS. Both are plants, which places them in the vegetable category. Thus, chocolate should irrefutably be considered a vegetable."  
  
"I think the coma might have done permanent brain damage," Cordelia responded, dryly. "Buffy, you gotta watch what you eat just a little, otherwise you'll never get back into shape again."  
  
"I am in shape," Buffy muttered, defensively. "Round is a shape."  
  
Cordelia laughed. "You really are feeling better, aren't ya?"  
  
Buffy smiled back. "What can I say? Waking up refreshed and stuffing your face with chocolate-y goodness at two in the afternoon brings a new perspective to things. I feel like nothing can bring me down now."  
  
"Angel and Spike were really worried about you." Cordelia commented, out of the blue.  
  
"Except, of course, for that," Buffy groaned immediately, flopping her head face down into a pillow and screaming.  
  
"Glad I could put things into perspective," Cordelia said after a moment, and although Buffy couldn't see it, she could hear the smile in her voice. "What are friends for, after all?"  
  
"Heaven help your enemies," Buffy muttered, through the pillow.  
  
"Amen to that," Cordelia agreed. "Seriously, though, they were wiggin' major when you fainted. The last two days I watched transfixed in horror as they agreed on numerous things, all centered around your well-being. They agreed on things, Buffy! Tell me that's not an omen for an apocalypse."  
  
"Actually," Buffy replied, raising her head in contemplation. "I'm pretty sure that's right after the frogs falling from the sky, and before the whole blood-water thing."  
  
Cordelia nodded. "It would have been kinda funny too, except I was too busy cussing out the doctor, and generally the entire medical staff, to take notice."  
  
Buffy looked confused. "You cussed out the doctor?"  
  
"He said you had nothing more serious than a severe case of exhaustion," Cordelia replied, with a shrug, "At the time, it wasn't a good enough answer for me. In result, I may have suggested in not so polite terms, that he had an inappropriate relationship with his mother."  
  
Buffy grinned outright at Cordelia's trademark biting tongue . . . yet at the same time, a part of her also felt immensely touched that she'd been so worried.  
  
Cordelia grinned back. "I have a reputation now among the medical staff. One of them even came up to me and told me that they much preferred the coma version of me."  
  
Buffy stopped grinning, confused. "Huh?"  
  
"Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that?" Cordelia said lightly, although to Buffy's trained eye, she could tell it was forced. "While you were sleeping, I've been getting the lay of this world. It seems we're destined to have screwed up lives no matter what reality."  
  
"It must be a universal constant," Buffy noted. "What did you find out?"  
  
"Well," Cordelia responded, "You'll be interested to know that Willow . . . How should I put this? . . She drives on the other side of the road now."  
  
Buffy raised a confused eyebrow. "She's British?"  
  
Cordelia sighed, "I should have known better than to try and be subtle. She's gay, Buffy. Simple enough?"  
  
"Oh," Buffy replied, then her eyes widened in shock as she actually processed the information. "Oh! Willow's gay? But . . . she and Xander . . . they were together . . . two years . . . and disturbing images of walking in on them are coming to mind," Buffy replied, randomly. "Are you just pulling my leg?"  
  
"No, trust me," Cordelia responded. "I had more or less the same reaction. A touch more coherent, but pretty much the same. She's been gay since Freshman year, apparently. And as for Xander? He was engaged."  
  
"To do what?" Buffy questioned, surprised.  
  
"To get married, evidently."  
  
"Get out of here." Buffy muttered, in disbelief.  
  
"I'm totally serious."  
  
"And . . . and it's not to Willow?" Buffy responded.  
  
"Well, she's gay now. So, unless he underwent some type of reconstructive surgery relating to a sensitive portion of his body, I'm guessing no."  
  
"Then who?"  
  
Cordelia suddenly became evasive. "Oh, you know, I'm not too sure."  
  
"You didn't ask?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. I did. I had to find out what sort of woman was courageous - or stupid - enough to marry Xander Harris, after all. But . . ."  
  
"But what?"  
  
She fidgeted with her hair, a sure sign of nervousness. "I can't remember the name now."  
  
"Oh, come on," Buffy pleaded. "You can't tell me something like that and then say you don't remember. Is it somebody I know?"  
  
"I hope not," she muttered.  
  
"What?"  
  
Cordelia shook her head. "I think it was . . . ah, it was some girl named Anya," Cordelia said, strangely high-strung. "Ever heard of her?"  
  
Buffy thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Never."  
  
Cordelia released a deep breath. "Oh well . . . Apparently, she was a former vengeance demon by the name of Anyanka. You know the Hellmouth. And you know Xander. The two together equate demon love."  
  
"A former what?" Buffy asked.  
  
"A vengeance demon. They're kinda like a bad genie . . . A really, really bad genie," Cordelia said sighing, suddenly looking gloomy, distant, and dramatic. "The type that can ruin lives with one single wish. Make horrible things happen. . . horrible, confusing things that can change lives forever, or outright destroy them in wave after wave of bloodshed and despair."  
  
Buffy gave her an odd look.  
  
"Or, you know, so I've heard," Cordelia recovered, quickly. "Basically, they're the reason behind the saying, 'be careful what you wish for.'"  
  
"Hmm," Buffy replied, bewildered by Cordelia's odd behavior. "Never heard of 'em."  
  
Cordelia turned away, "I have," she muttered, under her breath. "Anyway, I heard she died a year ago."  
  
"Oh," Buffy responded, meekly.  
  
She suddenly felt oddly sad for this deceased person she'd never meet, but if this Anya was someone important to Xander, then that was all Buffy needed to know . . . Of course, by the same token, she was constantly under an avalanche of guilt because not only had she killed the Xander of her own world, but made him watch as she killed Willow, too.  
  
Ah, yes. And there it was. The overbearing guilt she had been blissfully free of for all of thirty minutes. She should have known that peaceful feeling she'd awoken to wouldn't last long.  
  
"Let's change the subject," Buffy suggested, sighing. "I suddenly don't feel like talking about Sunnydale anymore."  
  
"I haven't even gotten to the good parts, though," Cordelia said. "Wait until you hear how Sunnydale went under."  
  
"Later," Buffy replied, briskly. "Just not now."  
  
Cordelia paused for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. She probably picked up on the waves of growing uneasiness coming from Buffy. "Well, you want to know about the me of this world?"  
  
"That depends. Will I have anything to feel guilty about by listening to this?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"In that case, go for it."  
  
Cordelia smiled. "The story of my life, as I've heard it, is quite an interesting story. Apparently, I ascended to a Higher Being for the PTB."  
  
Buffy laughed in amusement . . . then quickly caught onto the sober expression on Cordelia's face. "Oh . . . you were serious."  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes, "Yes, I was serious . . . although, from what I hear, it did turn out to be something of a joke. An evil-thing-plots-your- entire-life-to-take-over-your-body-and-give-birth-to-itself type of joke."  
  
"And again, I say huh?"  
  
She sighed, "Some big evil possessed my body - I mean, her body. Used it for an entire year so that she could get pregnant. Yep, this world's Cordelia was pretty high on the evil scale. Blocked out the sun. Killed a lot of people. Something about controlling a big concrete demon, called . . . Monster? Brute? Something clever like that."  
  
"So she was impregnated by something evil?" Buffy asked, unconsciously placing a hand on her stomach.  
  
"Apparently," Cordelia answered. "Angel was kinda avoid-y and vague about that whole pregnancy thing. I guess he was upset. I mean, she did end up giving birth to this thing, and slipped to a coma that eventually killed her. So, I get with the avoidance. I didn't have it in me to ask any more questions after that."  
  
Buffy could only nod in agreement.  
  
"I can't imagine what she went through," Cordelia said, dropping her light tone. "Well, actually, I guess I could. You remember when I told you about my first time I . . . you know? That I got impregnated with my own little evil spawn."  
  
"Oh, yeah." Buffy replied, remembering immediately.  
  
They'd both lost their virginity to guys who woke up as evil bastards. And ultimately, been impregnated by them. It was a hard thing to forget. - See what she meant about having a lot in common?  
  
"Well, I remember being so scared. So helpless," Cordelia continued. "I was being controlled by this thing inside me, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. And that was just for a day. She suffered a year of that. Imagine what she went through . . ."  
  
"She was strong," Buffy comforted. "It's not something easily forgotten, granted, but she would have come out of it with a flippant remark and smile on her face."  
  
Cordelia gave her an incredulous look. "She died because of it, Buffy."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about her mind. Her soul. Not her body. It would have taken more than a bad case of the Exorcist to dent her. I know that, because I know you."  
  
Cordelia paused. "You give me too much credit. I'm not somebody to put up on a pedestal, Buffy. Call it a fear of heights."  
  
"Why not?" Buffy retorted. "Don't hang your head when I say you're strong. It's nothing to be ashamed of."  
  
A shadow crossed over Cordelia's eyes, looking oddly like a shroud of guilt. For reasons beyond Buffy's grasp, that always happened when she complimented her. Like Cordelia was ashamed of herself or felt unworthy of the compliment. It was beyond Buffy why, though. In her eyes, Cordelia had never done anything wrong. Nothing to feel guilt about, but Cordelia apparently thought otherwise. Buffy always chalked it up to a bitchin' case of survivor's guilt. It was the only explanation she could ever think of.  
  
Cordelia cleared her throat and looked away. "Anyway, the tragic saga of Cordelia's love life is not the only thing around here that's interesting. A lot of things are." "Like what?" Buffy questioned.  
  
"Fred and Wesley are going out, can you believe that?"  
  
"Actually," Buffy replied, thinking about it. "Yeah, I can. They would be a cute couple."  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes, "Well, of course they would be. But that's not the point. In our world, it was Fred and Gunn that were dating."  
  
"It's not our world, Cordelia," Buffy reminded, gently.  
  
"I know that!" Cordelia snapped, annoyed. "You don't think I know that? I've spent the last two days learning nothing but that. The more I stay here, the more education I get on the fun facts of Cordelia, this-is-not- your-life."  
  
Buffy recoiled, surprised by the venom in her tone.  
  
Cordelia stood and paced the length of the floor, a wild look in her eyes. "Wesley's totally different. He's dating Fred and has all these mysterious vibes coming off him. Gunn's a lawyer, that speaks like eighty different demon languages! Fred isn't the shy girl I remember. Spike's got a soul. Lorne is . . . well, actually Lorne's the same. But everything here is just too out of place."  
  
Buffy waited a beat, then ventured into rocky territory. "I noticed you missed someone." She keenly observed.  
  
Cordelia paused, then looked back at Buffy. It was the intensity of her gaze that aroused Buffy's discomfort. Buffy and Cordelia had shared a lot in their time together, but Angel had always been one of their off topics. Now, however, they couldn't very well continue to avoid it considering the object of their non-topic was going to be a daily part of their lives.  
  
"Angel . . . he's hiding something, I know it. I don't know what it is, but it's something big . . . But that's not what's really bothering me."  
  
Buffy forced herself not to flinch. "What's really bothering you about him?"  
  
She laughed slightly, but it had very little mirth to it. "It's ironic. I'm upset with everyone else because they're different. But with Angel, I'm upset with him because he's exactly the same."  
  
"I'm not following," Buffy replied, confused.  
  
"You wouldn't. You couldn't," Cordelia replied. "You didn't see him the last two days."  
  
"Cordelia, stop with the cryptic," Buffy implored, slightly impatient. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Buffy, I know that you and Angel--"  
  
But before Cordelia could voice whatever deep thoughts she was having, she suddenly gasped a deep breath, and her eyes turned snow white. Buffy recognized this easily. Cordelia was having a vision.  
  
"Cordelia, are you okay?"  
  
"Demons. Lots of 'em," she said, ignoring the question. "A cult, maybe . . . They're going to sacrifice a bunch of college students . . . At the UCLA Library."  
  
Buffy absorbed the information. "When?"  
  
"Two hours," Cordelia answered. "Three, tops."  
  
"Okay," Buffy responded, "We'll get Angel and Spike and go--"  
  
"No," Cordelia replied, eyes returning to normal as she pulled out of her vision. "They're not here, and we don't have time to wait for them to return. We'll have to handle this ourselves."  
  
Buffy thought it over quickly, then nodded. "Okay. Demon cult I can handle. Let's go."  
  
"Okay, let me just leave a note so they don't freak out." Cordelia said, grabbing a pen and paper to quickly scribble something on. She narrated while she wrote. "Guys, Buffy's awake and she's fine. We decided to go out. Don't worry. We'll be back late. Love, Cordelia . . . And I'll just add a quick P.S. . . Also gone to kill demons at the UCLA library . . . There, perfect."  
  
"Oh, yeah." Buffy commented, dryly. "They won't be freaked by that at all."  
  
Cordelia grinned, and dropped the letter onto the corner table. "Let's go."  
  
Buffy followed her outside the suite, where she could easily tell they were still inside Wolfram and Hart by the hallway furnishings. It had a rich corporate look, and it didn't surprise her in the least to learn Wolfram and Hart was the type of place to have apartments somewhere in their law firms. Why not? You needed accommodations, after all, for unexpected demon clientele . . . It irked her to consider the fact that she could be classified in that category.  
  
They entered the elevators, and Cordelia hit the garage floor button. "We'll take one of Angel's cars." Cordelia said, as the elevator doors closed. "He's said something about having a couple of 'em."  
  
Buffy nodded, and once the elevator had reached the bottom floor, she watched as the doors pinged open. It reveled an entire garage full of expensive, sleek, and no doubt fast cars that only the insanely rich would buy.  
  
"Holy Mama," Cordelia muttered, mouth watering. "Me like."  
  
"A couple?" Buffy questioned, incredulous. "He's got enough to stock the Indie 500s in here! All of these are his?"  
  
Cordelia eagerly grabbed a pair of keys off a nearby hook. "I'll drive!"  
  
"Okay," Buffy agreed, looking around. "But which car do we take?"  
  
Cordelia walked over to the black Viper. "You know what they say about the color black?"  
  
Buffy grinned, catching on, and got into the passenger seat. "It has a slimming effect. I love the way you think, sometimes," she answered, giddily. "What about the sun, though? I don't want to be extra crispy when we get there."  
  
"They have some type of new-fangled glass that makes it safe for vampires to sit in daylight." Cordelia answered, with a shrug. "They have it all through the building, too. I nearly had a friggin' heart attack when I first saw Angel and Spike standing together in sunlight, before they explained it to me. Well, Angel explained it to me. Spike mostly just mocked."  
  
Cordelia started the car, and it wasn't until they were screeching onto the road, that Buffy thought to ask an important question.  
  
"Where did Spike and Angel go, anyway?"  
  
--  
  
Spike couldn't speak for Angel, but he was currently under the local post office.  
  
"The Channels to the PTB are under the bloody post office?" Spike questioned, incredulous.  
  
Fred shrugged, and opened the book in her hands. "I've never really been here before. It was always Wesley and Angel that went. Anyway, the last time Angel spoke to them, the Oracles here had been killed. What you're probably going to speak to are their spirits. A brother and sister, I've heard. They're a little on the unpredictable side, so just ask your questions and get out."  
  
"You're not coming with?" Spike asked.  
  
"I'm not a champion," Fred replied, "And you gotta have like a pretty hefty resume in the hero department for them to see you. And since Angel was busy, I thought--"  
  
"Right," Spike cut in, "Go to Soul Boy number two."  
  
Fred nodded, impishly. "You have the gift?"  
  
Spike held up the ancient vase. "I still say we should have gotten 'em a bloody Plasma, Big Screen TV. You gotta figure they're bored silly with vases and urns."  
  
"I doubt they have your tastes, Spike," Fred replied, then paused in thought. "Cause frankly, if they did, I'd be kinda worried."  
  
"Probably so," Spike replied, grinning. "If I were some type of god, tho', I'd probably demand human sacrifices as my gifts." He circled her, and whispered lightly into her ear, "You know, the pretty brunette types."  
  
Fred rolled her eyes. "You'd probably demand virgins, too."  
  
Spike saw an opportunity, and couldn't help himself. "And we both know that you're not in that category," Spike added, lightly. "Speaking of, I heard from a little birdie that you and Wes were together."  
  
Fred quickly turned away and ignored the bait. With a light pink tinge on her cheeks, she continued with the preparations, and Spike decided to let it go for now. There would be plenty of time later. He watched with boredom and agitation as she put several funky smelling herbs into an urn and lit it on fire with a lighter.  
  
"We beseech access to the knowing ones," she chanted, "Grant us permission before your presence."  
  
The archway in front of them glowed with white light, and Fred motioned him in. "Get in. Ask questions. Get out," she advised. "And whatever you do, Spike, don't piss them off."  
  
"Hey," Spike replied, easily, "Who do you think you're talking to?"  
  
He stepped into the white light before Fred could respond, and was greeted by the sight of a white marbled chamber and two glittery figures standing before him.  
  
"It is the other one, Brother," the female said, speaking to the man next to her. "I won the bet."  
  
The man slowly took out a small token from his apparel and handed it to her reluctantly. "Lucky guess," he mused, childishly. He turned back to Spike. "So, you have come to us. What gift have you brought us?"  
  
Spike held up the vase, and rolled his eyes. "Sui Dynasty. Sixth century A.D.," he replied, then eyed their incorporeal forms. "Suppose I'll just leave it on the ground, then."  
  
The woman waved her hand and the vase floated out of Spike's grasp and to the corner of the room. It settled neatly, as if it had been part of the decor of the marbled room for centuries.  
  
"Or not," Spike amended. "Can you pull a rabbit out of a hat, too? Cause I've always wanted to see that."  
  
The man stepped forward. "What have you come to ask?"  
  
"Right, get down to business. I can deal with that," Spike said, nodding. "I guess my first question would be 'What the bloody hell is going on?'"  
  
The Oracles eyed him in distaste.  
  
Spike paused, then decided to ask in all seriousness. "Right, then. Why is Buffy here?"  
  
"Seeking sanctuary," the male replied, "and fulfilling destiny."  
  
"And here I was worried you'd be cryptic and vague," Spike mused. "What destiny are we talking about here? Cause she's already check-marked a couple of 'em."  
  
"To give life to symmetry once again," the female answered.  
  
"And order," the male added.  
  
"Riiight," Spike replied slowly, clearly confused. "Symmetry. Order. Good things to have."  
  
The man sighed, and turned away. "It does not understand. We are not here to teach it."  
  
"They ask for guidance, Brother. Patience." the female replied, then turned back to address Spike. "The mother, Buffy Summers, is a vessel. She holds the key to end chaos in your world."  
  
"Key?" Spike repeated slowly, suddenly thinking of Dawn. "You don't mean–"  
  
"No," the man replied, quickly. "We were talking in metaphors."  
  
"We do that a lot," the woman admitted.  
  
"Right," Spike responded, slowly. "Was there some type of shiny decoder ring I needed to understand you blokes? Cause if there was, I can come back later with it."  
  
"Chaos has reined for far too long," the woman continued, as if he'd never spoken. "You wish to know why the women by the name of Buffy Summers is here, and this is why. For eons, the universe has always headed towards a fundamental balance. Between Good and Evil. Light and Dark--"  
  
"United Manchester verses Leads United," Spike finished, sarcastically. "Yeah, familiar with the concept."  
  
The woman raised a confused eyebrow, but continued. "Very rarely has it ever reached that equilibrium, but the universe has always traveled towards it."  
  
"Until recently," the man finished, ominously.  
  
The woman nodded. "Millennia, it has been, since we have seen such chaos and disorder. Last we saw such a path was when the Old Ones died. It changed the face of this universe and many others because of it. Now, it is happening again. The world is heading towards its own destruction because it refuses to follow the right path. The path towards harmony."  
  
"Harmony is the key," the man finished, once again.  
  
"Harmony?" Spike questioned, thinking of the blonde secretary. "Let me guess, metaphors again?" . . . He hoped.  
  
She turned away, and circled him. "The last decade of your time has seen the balance tip drastically. One side has reined over the other."  
  
Spike thought about it, and couldn't refute the idea. Evil had been rearing its head a lot lately, more so than he'd ever experienced in his considerably long life. The example of the First Evil's attempt to destroy the Slayer line came to mind the quickest. But there were plenty of other examples to chose from. Glory. The Mayor. The Master. Jasmine. These icons of evil had been rising up a lot lately.  
  
"This imbalance has only grown," the man added. "It needs to be fixed, or all will cease to be."  
  
"Right, can't argue with that," Spike admitted. "But what does it have to do with Buffy?"  
  
"We have already told you," the female answered. "She will be the Mother to Order and Symmetry."  
  
Spike's mouth may have gaped open, "You're telling me, that this little tyke in Buffy's belly is going to . . . to what? Counteract all the growin' evil?"  
  
The man sighed, "It is too ignorant for its own good."  
  
"Shh," the sister rebuked, "It is only thinking to the best of its ability. We cannot blame it for its inborn limitations."  
  
"Thanks," Spike muttered, dryly.  
  
She turned back to Spike. "What this child will bring is order to chaos. The notion behind that is far too complex for a lower being to understand. But understand this . . . it will be for the greater good."  
  
Spike nodded. "So, we won't be expecting this kid to be Angelus junior, right?"  
  
The woman simply smiled, then turned contemplative. "Your views of this Angelus, they are . . . interesting."  
  
The way she said it, it made him think she was reading his thoughts and feelings.  
  
"Interesting is one word for it," Spike agreed. "I prefer 'homicidal,' tho'."  
  
The women circled him, "You have feelings for the mother. Love. She was the reason you reformed. And for this, you hate the father."  
  
"Lower beings," the man mocked, "If it is not hate, then love. Yet often, both. They are such fickle creatures."  
  
"It's called being passionate," Spike responded, with an edge. "It's something you wouldn't understand from watching us, 'specially from a white flawless castle like this."  
  
The man eyes crackled with lightning at the retort, and for a moment, Spike wondered if he had stepped over some imaginary line. Not that he cared, in particular, about pissing off some arrogant Power That Be, especially some nancy guy that didn't have the sense not to wear a dress - toga - whatever. But he needed answers, and so he needed them right now.  
  
But when the woman laughed, Spike felt the tension in the air lessen. "See, Brother? They trade barbs just as well as you do, but there is warmth behind theirs. Because of it, you will never understand them or their emotions."  
  
"I have no desire to understand them, Sister," he answered. "That concern is yours, only."  
  
"Too true," The woman agreed.  
  
"I hate to break up this sibling rivalry," Spike interrupted, agitated. "But unless there's bloodshed, I'm not interested in watching. Can we get back to business, here?"  
  
The man turned and walked towards the exiting hallway. "Waste all the time you want, Sister. I am done wasting mine."  
  
After he left, Spike turned to the woman, "Let me guess, he use to be a whiny little bugger when he lost to you as a kid."  
  
The woman laughed. "The tantrums he threw . . ." she reminisced, shaking her head in amusement.  
  
Spike smirked, and looked around the marbled room with disinterest. When he turned back, he was surprised to meet the startlingly clear blue eyes of the female Oracle, who gazed back without blinking from mere inches away. He suddenly felt very naked and exposed under her scrutiny, as if she could not only see him, but his soul as well. In the blink of an eye, he knew she saw him for what he was. She could see him for his past, present, and future. That she could see past all his armor and defenses, and see the wounded soul of the poet inside.  
  
"The love you seek will not be returned," she said slowly, with sympathy. "You know this."  
  
Spike paused, then admitted in a pained, low whisper. "Always have."  
  
It cut him like a barb to admit it, but the dream of Buffy had always been out of his grasp. He always knew that. From the very first moment he realized his not-so-homicidal feelings for the blonde slayer, he knew it could only end in heartache for him. It didn't stop him from chasing after her, though. He was just that way. When he was in love, nothing he could say or do would stop him from being love's bitch. Even knowing that the woman you loved would never love you back the same way.  
  
He still remembered with haunting clarity those last moments before the Hellmouth had claimed his body. He remembered gazing into her watery eyes, hearing the words he'd longed to hear, and not accepting them. Knowing them to be uttered in grief, not honesty. The memory of it stayed with him like a shroud, and even though he much preferred the memory of the night before, holding onto her, he could never shake that first memory. That the feeling of burning up in fire and ash was nothing in comparison to the pain and realization that his all-consuming love would never be returned. Never be reciprocated.  
  
No matter what, she'd always fall for the tall, dark, and handsome type. Never the blond rogue. That was fine, though, because unlike months ago, he had no delusions about it now. He'd finally made some progress on accepting his fate without her. The bitch of it was that just when he did, she came walking back into his life. Glorious and beautiful, and every bit an enigma as before, she'd threatened so casually to destroy all the progress he'd made.  
  
He would have fallen back on old habits, too, if it weren't for a glaring little fact. She was pregnant with Angelus's child. Not his kid. Hell, not even Angel's, but Angelus's. He had to be dense in the epic proportions not to pick up on the meaning behind that. The fact that she wasn't his, and would never be, had never been more obvious. The swollen belly might as well have been a bloody sign around her neck - 'Not Yours, Spike.'  
  
The Oracle put a sympathetic, if incorporeal, hand to his cheek. "You, just like the others, have a rocky path before you.," she said. "It will test your strength and will power, but you must remain strong. The love you seek will not be returned . . . but I see in your path a new love."  
  
A new love? Spike thought incredulous. It was too horrendous to think about. He had enough bitch-slapping for a lifetime, thank you very much, and the last thing he wanted was another woman in his life to have that type of power over him. To have that ability to create and destroy him with her simplest of gestures.  
  
Besides, he said he was beginning to accept his fate without Buffy. Not that he was over her. He was so far away from that, so very far away, that he wondered if it was even possible to see anyone else in that light again. That even if he lived to be a thousand years old, he'd never be able to love like that again.  
  
"But you will," the Oracle replied, apparently reading his thoughts again. "Whether you admit it or not, you have always wanted and needed love. Even when your hands were drenched in soiled blood, your heart had a certain innocence still. Now is no different. You will have love again, I see. And much sooner than you think."  
  
Spike shifted in unease, and tried to lighten the mood. "Are you by any chance comin' on to me, Oracle? Cause if you are, the incorporeal thing might be a problem. I'm just sayin'."  
  
She continued, unfazed. "Old lovers and new, I see them all. I see them in your immediate future, in fact. Some cast as villains, others as warriors, and others still as damsels in distress. I foresee a unique merging of events, that will hold each and every one of these women's lives at the edge of certain peril. Because of this, there will come a time when you will have to make a decision about them. A critical decision."  
  
"Of what exactly?"  
  
"Between old love and new," she replied. "Between who will live and who will die. You will decide."  
  
Spike jerked away from the ominous words, speechless and wide eyed.  
  
She looked sympathetic and dead serious. "The responsibility is yours, whether you want it or not. It is the burden you must carry."  
  
"Bugger that!" Spike exclaimed, harshly. "I don't know what you're prattling on about, lady, but its obvious you don't have a bloody clue what you're talking about. Save your omens of death for the next poor bugger that walks through those doors. I've had my fill."  
  
He tried to move away, but he suddenly found himself unable to move. She had paralyzed him without him even knowing it.  
  
"I have but one piece of advice for you, William," she said. "Although your heart will demand one thing, and your mind another, what you must listen to, are the voices of those around you. Otherwise, a needless death for a needless sacrifice will occur."  
  
"Whose death?" Spike questioned, heatedly. "Stop being bloody cryptic! Is . . . is Buffy going to die?"  
  
"I never mentioned anything about the mother," she replied, pointedly.  
  
"Then she'll live?" Spike asked.  
  
"I never said that, either," she answered, annoyingly enough. "Just know, that if all goes as the Powers That Be have hoped, it will ultimately be for the greater good."  
  
"For the greater good?" Spike repeated. "Why don't I like the sound of that?"  
  
She smiled, but there was a trace of sadness in it that sent a chill up Spike's spine. Then, there was a growing, blinding light. The next thing he knew, Spike was back beneath the post office, with Fred.  
  
"Uh, did it work?" Fred questioned, confused. "I don't think it worked. You just went in this instant."  
  
"It worked," Spike answered sedately, feeling a heavy weight on him. "It worked too damn well, if you ask me."  
  
--  
  
Angel was in the White Room.  
  
It was deserted, as far as he could see, but the hairs on the back of his neck were obviously telling him otherwise. From the very first time he stepped foot into this room, years ago, he didn't need to be told it housed a powerful conduit of the Senior Partners to know something ancient and powerful was watching him. Its existence practically soaked up every inch and corner of the bleached room. Its life more evident with silence than those of a thousand heartbeats.  
  
It sent a creepy chill up his spine, but he resolved to ignore it, searching the unforgiving whiteness for a spot of black. A feline black, to be specific. This conduit, Angel remembered clearly, preferred the form of a black panther.  
  
But where was that little kitty of his, anyway? He was nowhere in sight.  
  
"Hello?" he shouted, his voice echoing. "Am I suppose to ring a bell or something? I need some service here!"  
  
Silence greeted that statement, and for the briefest of moments, he wondered if declining Gunn's offer of assistance had been a mistake. But he quickly reminded himself that it was necessary. Considering so many of the questions and answers he sought were too personal and secret in nature for others to know about, Angel justified that this needed to be a solo gig.  
  
Still, Gunn's assistance right now would not have gone totally unwanted. How was he suppose to communicate with the Kitty anyway? He needed answers, delivered in a manner which was considerably more complex then the average feline vocabulary, and he had no idea how he was going to get them. Gunn seemed to have some type of bond with the Kitty, understood it on a level Angel couldn't. It was beyond Angel what the nature of that bond exactly was, but it had most definitely come in handy when trying to talk to the Kitty in previous occasions. That was all well and good in the past, Angel silently mused, but right now was entirely another matter.  
  
"Hey, CEO of Wolfram and Hart here! Anybody home?"  
  
"Somebody's home," an all too familiar voice greeted back.  
  
Angel whirled around, meeting the gaze of a different sort of feline predator than that of which he was expecting. This human, perhaps more deadly then any panther could ever hope to be, gazed back at him with a sultry smile.  
  
"Hello, Lover," Darla greeted.  
  
Angel froze in reaction. The sight of his sire, now three times dead, caught him like a physical blow. But even then, however, it was no more then a second before realization dawned on him. If there was one thing Angel knew, it was the scent of the women in his life.  
  
"You're not Darla." He stated, curtly.  
  
"Duh," she said, stalking towards him in a manner that screamed Darla. "I'm still the conduit. Just in a different physical form. One that has, if I heard correctly, a considerably more complex vocabulary then the average feline."  
  
It had been reading his thoughts, he realized. Fantastic.  
  
"Well, don't take this as an insult, but the blond look? Doesn't really work for you." Angel replied, more of an order than anything. "Try a red head, maybe. Or a giraffe, for all I care. Just change."  
  
The smile melted off her face. He watched as the familiar blue eyes cleared of all emotion, leaving them far more cold and dead than Angel had ever seen them. And if he wasn't mistaken, the room's temperature may have just plunged.  
  
"The physical form of the conduit is determined by the viewer," she informed, coldly. "So if you have a problem with this form, you need to take it up with your subconscious. Not with me. Don't ever order me to do something again, Angelus. Ever. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."  
  
Something told him he didn't want to test that theory, but that still didn't stop him from protesting further.  
  
"If you change your form, we won't have a problem," Angel reasoned, briskly. "C'mon, we're both working for the same depraved law firm here. Work with me."  
  
"Sorry, but I happen to think this form is quite appropriate. Your thoughts, after all, have been swirling around Darla a lot lately. I wonder why that is?" she mused, smirking. "Could it be, is it possible, that you're feeling a sense of Deja-vu here?"  
  
"I came here for answers," Angel replied. "Not to witness your lame attempts at sarcasm and witty banter."  
  
"Answers? What do I look like, your flunky?" Darla asked. "This is the part where I need to be clear. I'm not here to give you answers. I don't work for you. I am your conduit to the Senior Partners, and surprise, they are not here for your convenience."  
  
"I won't leave until I get answers."  
  
"You'll leave when I want you to leave," Darla threatened in a sweet voice. "You have no power here. You know that. Anger me and I can create a Hell dimension for you, one that will make the Hell you've been to seem like a trip to Disneyland in comparison . . ."  
  
He pushed back at the raging memories of Hell - the memories of being tortured and brutalized for centuries strait - and faced her with an unimpressed expression that verged on boredom.  
  
"Or I could really hurt you," she continued, "and go after those you love. How's the new Cordelia doing anyway? Adjusting fine, is she?"  
  
Angel flinched despite himself.  
  
Darla smirked. "Now, I know Darla never taught you that little thing called manners, but pretend for a second that she did. What do you say when you've been rude to your elders?"  
  
Several choices popped up into his mind, but he knew aggravating the conduit would do him no good. With a quick glance away from the form of his sire, and an inner sigh of utter frustration, he forced himself to focus and regroup. Finally, when he could meet her eyes without mentally flinching, he cautiously began again, this time with as much composure as he could muster. Which, admittedly, wasn't much. But you had to give him credit for trying.  
  
"I'm sorry," he bit out. "I was rude. It won't happen again."  
  
She smiled. That smile he'd seen on Darla's face a million and one times. He never hated it as much as he did now.  
  
"That's a good little boy." She beamed. "Now, keeping in mind that I don't promise answers, let's hear your questions. Who knows, I might feel generous."  
  
Arrogant, Angel thought . . . Maybe he could use that to his advantage.  
  
"I guess you know about Buffy and Cordelia," Angel mused, out loud.  
  
She smiled, sardonically. "Who do you take us for, the Bush Administration? Of course, we know. It's our business to know these things."  
  
"Okay," Angel replied, "What exactly do you know? Specifics, please."  
  
"That you're either living every man's fantasy, or every man's worst nightmare." She replied, "Confronted with two lost loves. One of which, impossibly enough, is impregnated with a child by your alter ego. It's like a soap opera episode come to life . . . And you know at the end of one of those, some one always dies."  
  
He ignored the rib, and moved forward with his fast forming course of action. Use her arrogance against her. It wasn't exactly imaginative, granted, but you'd be surprised how many times it worked.  
  
"So, you know about Buffy and her baby," he replied, unimpressed. "Big deal. The mail room guy on level three knows that. Tell me something even I don't know."  
  
Darla raised an eyebrow in amusement. She laughed sweetly, and Angel's eyes flashed with so many memories of Darla laughing just that way. It caught him deeply, and he had to force himself to realize that she may have her face, poorly try to copy her style, even laugh and smile the same way as Darla, but it was all just an illusion. He had to force himself to see through it.  
  
Easier said then done, he knew.  
  
"Okay," she nodded, "You want some news? Try this on for size. The one responsible for bringing them here . . . is none other than you."  
  
Angel paused, confused. "What the hell is that suppose to mean? I didn't summon them."  
  
"I didn't say the word 'summon,' sweetheart. I said 'responsible,' and that you are."  
  
"What are you talking about?" he questioned.  
  
She held out her hand in midair, and quickly out of nowhere a thick stack of papers materialized in her hand. She tossed it to him, and he deftly caught it.  
  
"Here it is," she informed. "The reason why your beloved lookalike came here. And I know it looks complicated, considering it's a seventy-five page booklet that doesn't have much English in it. But all that's really important is on the last page. It's fairly straightforward and familiar."  
  
And then he knew instinctively, what this was, without even looking at it.  
  
The conduit, however, took the booklet from his hands and delighting herself in his torture, turned to the page for him. The sight of his graceful signature confirmed it for him. The contract he signed to join Wolfram and Hart. The contract he signed to give Connor a new life. It was here in front of him, and for a brief second, only a brief second, he considered tearing it to pieces.  
  
"What does this have to–"  
  
"–to do with why you've got a brunette and a pregnant blonde on your hands?" she interrupted. "Everything, sweetheart."  
  
He must have looked confused, because she rolled her eyes in exasperation.  
  
"You signed away your child's destiny. In those pages, we gave you exactly what you wanted. For your son to have a life that's supernatural-free. We took his powers away, his memories, and everything special about him. He's just another run-of-the-mill, boring teenager now . . . But there was one thing you didn't take into account. Just because you erased the memory, even erased the kid in a way, doesn't mean you erased the destiny."  
  
His eyes widened in realization, denial quickly nipping at its' heels. "No. That can't be right. I didn't give Connor a chance, just so another–"  
  
"Another runt can take his place?" Darla finished. "Sorry, but you did. The insufferable PTB have plans for your progeny, and you and unfortunately even Wolfram and Hart, can't stop that. We know that now. You changed fate with the first kid. It won't happen twice . . . In fact, you want to know the really funny thing about this entire situation? The true 'Ha-Ha' of it?"  
  
Somehow, he knew, whatever it was, it wasn't going to be even remotely funny.  
  
She smiled, anyway. "The very moment, right down to the second, that you signed those papers, was the very moment, in another reality, that Buffy and Angelus conceived their child. It was the cosmic way of sustaining balance, I guess. Talk about a story with scope, huh?"  
  
Angel was speechless, the function to form words leaving him. Buffy's child was conceived the second Angel had signed his away? The irony had to be on purpose. And it was tainted with the perfect flavor of let's-screw-with-our- champion's-lives that the PTB seemed to love so much.  
  
Darla walked up to him, tipping his head up with her graceful hands, so that he would face her. It was an intimate gesture Darla had done a thousand times. "Just accept it, Lover, you can't win 'em all. You saved Connor, and a big hooray for that. But now this new kid is the consequence. The strings you didn't see."  
  
He jerked away violently, disgusted. He wasn't going to be fooled, or sidetracked.  
  
"And Wolfram and Hart had nothing to do with it?" He spat out, distancing himself. "You're telling me they didn't know this was going to happen, and orchestrated this entire event just so they could get a hold of my new kid."  
  
"Your kid?" The thing that pretended to be Darla questioned, "Don't you mean Angelus's kid?"  
  
"Just answer me!" He exclaimed, roughly.  
  
Her hand shot out, grasping him around the neck with a ferocious speed, and he was lifted into midair. Her hands closed tight around his throat, and even though he didn't need air, he could feel the bones in his neck cracking and his vocal cord being crushed.  
  
"I think I recall advising you to never order me around again." She said, dangling him like a toy. "You didn't listen."  
  
He gasped and tried vainly to form words.  
  
"As much as we'd like to take credit for this, and believe me, we do." Darla answered, slowly. "Some things even catch us by surprise. We did not foresee nor did we trigger this interesting development. The Senior Partners maybe evil, but we hold to our deal. We will not touch your spawn, and that includes this other one, too."  
  
He sputtered.  
  
"Why, you ask?" Darla interpreted, correctly. "Because our main interest has always lain in one place, Angelus. And as much as I really hate to feed that planetary sized ego you have, the truth is, its always been with you."  
  
Angel stopped struggling, using all his energy to focus on what she might say. What she might lend a clue to.  
  
"Or as it turns out, you or Spike," she added, after a beat. "It's a whole vampire with a soul thing."  
  
Angel couldn't help it, he flinched. The childish and competitive part of him reared its head with ferocity. It stung to think Spike may be the actual reason, however elusive that reason may seem right now, that Wolfram and Hart had spent so much energy on him. As much as he hated their attention, it was better than watching it being 'lavished' on Spike. It meant that the years of retribution he'd suffered through weren't in vain. He wasn't suddenly insignificant. His great destiny not a wrong calling.  
  
He desperately needed to believe that, or he risked losing it big time.  
  
Darla continued, paying no mind to Spike anymore. "To ensure your . . . tolerance for all things Wolfram and Hart, we're willing to overlook this child as well. Why would we threaten everything we've invested in you, everything you've done in the last six months, by pissing you off royally by coming after Miracle Child # 2? We can't afford the possible consequences of such an action."  
  
They were afraid of him, he realized numbly. Or worried he'd turn against them. Good. The thought helped to lessen the sting of Spike. She suddenly let go of him then, and he dropped to the floor with a thud. He took a moment to compose himself, massaging his throat, before glaring up at her with his best intensity.  
  
"Believe it or not, Angelus," Darla said, unfazed. "We don't want your hatred."  
  
"Really?" Angel muttered, incredulous. "Cause it looks like you're aiming for it from down here."  
  
"We don't want your hatred," Darla amended. "But I won't tolerate insolence in my domain, either. I'm sure you can understand that."  
  
"In an insane, psychopathic way. Yeah," Angel replied. He rose off the floor, ignoring his sore throat. It'd heal within minutes. "But what I don't get is the part about Wolfram and Hart letting Buffy's child off scotch free."  
  
"Our interest lies solely with you. Or Spike," Darla replied, exasperated. "Should I use smaller words?"  
  
"I'm sure they do," Angel muttered, threateningly. He could handle that. If Wolfram and Hart wanted to come after him, that was fine. That was expected. And if they went after Spike, well okay. He'd live with that, too - happily, in fact. "But if they try one thing against Buffy and her baby, I'll–"  
  
"You'll kill the Senior Partners? You'll make us pay? You'll do something really R-rated to us?" Darla interrupted, scoffing. "Please, save your dramatic proclamations for those that are intimidated by your caveman persona. Don't waste it with me."  
  
"Then the Senior Partners aren't planning anything for Buffy's baby, just for little ol' me?" Angel responded in disbelief. "I don't care how special you think I am. I don't buy it."  
  
Darla smirked. "Okay, I admit. Maybe it's not all you. The PTB have their best protection over this child, too. Protection from every sort, in fact, and it's done in a way that's beyond the ordinary for them. No one knows what this child is meant for, except those that are very high up, but we know its something big. If Wolfram and Hart tries to interfere with that, we know it'll somehow backfire on us. Give us a little credit. We can pick up on hints that are heavier than anvils."  
  
"So you are not, nor ever will be, interested in Buffy's child?" Angel questioned, and motioned to the contract lying forgotten on the floor. "Can I get that in writing?"  
  
Darla merely shrugged, "As far as I know, your prime litigator, Charles Gunn, has spent the last two days drawing up those very papers. We gifted him with too much knowledge, I suppose. If the rumors are true, by the time he's done, the contracts will be as fool proof and air tight as these here. Without the whole memory thing, of course. It'll basically give sole custody of the baby's future to Buffy Summers and no one else . . . Although, I suppose, that could be a source of trouble, considering . . ."  
  
He knew where she was headed. Had been thinking of little else since he'd seen Buffy. As he'd watched her sleeping for the last two days, the uneasiness in his stomach had grown to full blown anguish. It had been hard to hide it from Cordelia and Spike, and he still wasn't positive that he'd done a good job of that, but he tried to hide the fact that he knew something the rest didn't.  
  
"She's going to die, isn't she?" Angel muttered, eyes pained. "Just like yo- . . . Darla. Giving birth."  
  
"Giving life to a child that cannot be born," Darla corrected. "Labor's a real bitch."  
  
Angel's eyes flashed with anger. "That's not going to happen. Not this time."  
  
Darla smiled, "And why not? You know what they say about history, after all."  
  
"Last time I didn't know what was going to happen." Angel argued. "This time I do. It won't happen again."  
  
"Maybe I didn't make myself clear. The protection is on the baby, not the vessel that carries it. The PTB, for all their supposed mercy and benevolence, will dispose of Buffy just as quickly as they did with Darla. Nothing will change there."  
  
The words held more truth and power than Angel wanted to admit. He knew that the PTB only kept their eyes on the overall goal, and if Buffy, for once, wasn't a part of it, then they'd discard her like they did to Doyle. To Cordelia.  
  
To Darla.  
  
He looked at the conduit now, something that had no doubt chosen Darla's form to incite him, but ironically it turned into an odd sort of inspiration instead. Standing there, looking at Darla's face, he could picture her so vividly in that alleyway, drenched in rain and misery. Remember her words. He remembered the feel of her hand crumbling to ashes beneath his, and the sound of crying. The baby that would never know its' own mother. A baby that would never really know how much it was loved by her.  
  
"That won't happen again," Angel challenged, drawing strength from the image. "Buffy will not die. She'll hold her child in her hands."  
  
"Oh, how sweet. I think I'm going to throw up," Darla responded. "Poetic proclamations aside, do you actually have a plan to back up your wholesome vows?"  
  
"I'll find a mystical cure. Or a spell. Or a genie, if I have to. There has to be a way."  
  
"Wow," Darla said, feigning admiration. "So much determination. The weight of the world, the fate of this child and now the mother on your shoulders, and you're marching on like a good little trooper. The PTB sure know how to manipulate you."  
  
"Thinking of taking pointers?" Angel questioned, dryly.  
  
Darla smiled, and circled him. "But alas, you've got no one to share it with. You must feel just a bit pressured and lonely. Cause after all, you're the only one who knows Buffy's fate. You're the only one who knows she's destined to die."  
  
"She's not going to die." Angel responded.  
  
"Still, next couple of weeks are going to be hell for you. You can't tell anyone what's going to happen. You can't ask for help from those you trust. Cause, let's face it, if you went up to that ex-watcher of yours, and declared that you wanted a cure for Buffy so she doesn't die during labor, you're going to have to do some explaining."  
  
He internally flinched, realizing that she was right. He couldn't ask them, because that would mean explaining how he knew what was meant to happen. That would mean explaining about Darla and Connor.  
  
"Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we try and to deceive," Darla taunted. "It must really suck to be you, right now."  
  
"So I'll do it myself." Angel replied, with more confidence that he had. "But Buffy will live. So will her child. And whatever fate they have to face, they won't have to do it alone."  
  
And they wouldn't. If this entire situation truly was Angel's doing - that by giving Connor a chance, this child had been created - then he was going to take responsibility for it. He was going to make sure the child was raised with love and care, and help and guidance when needed. This was not going to be another Connor. With Buffy, this child would be fully prepared for whatever fate--  
  
"I hate to break your white-picket fence fantasy," Darla said, dryly. "But I see a problem. Oh, I guess I mean another problem. They just kinda keep stacking up, don't they? It's turning out to be a fun conversation. Although, I suppose, not from your perspective."  
  
"You just really love to listen to your own voice, don't you?" Angel questioned.  
  
She ignored his mocking tone. "Even if you save Buffy's life. Even if both the child and the mother live, do you really think they'll live happily ever after? Together? C'mon now, think about it for a second. When the child is born, what else will leave Buffy's body?"  
  
Realization dawned on him. The thought had, for some reason, escaped him until now. There had just been too many other things to think about.  
  
"Her soul."  
  
"Bingo!" Darla chimed. "Tell him what he's won, Johnny! . . One evil bitch vampire, with nine months of mayhem and bloodshed to make up for. And believe me, boy, she learned well from Angelus."  
  
"We'll . . . we'll curse her, or send her to Africa like Spike." Angel responded, quickly. "But she'll get her soul back."  
  
"You sure about that?" Darla said, beaming with an I-know-something-you- don't-know look. "You know, for a 200 year plus vampire with a soul, you really don't know much about the basics of Spiritualism, do you?"  
  
"Please tell me you're not going to start lecturing me on the concept of eternal destiny and the vices of material wealth," Angel replied, thinking of all those self-help books he'd seen Cordelia with on Spiritualism over the years.  
  
"Nothing like that," Darla replied. "But you should learn some concepts. I'm not too good of a teacher, though. Go back to your ex-watcher. Ask him about something called the Hawkerites' First Law of Spiritualism. It's important, trust me."  
  
"And this has something to do with resouling Buffy?" Angel questioned.  
  
"No," Darla replied. "It'll just explain why you can't resoul her."  
  
And before he could absorb that statement, much less respond to it, she waved her hand in the air and Angel went flying back until he felt the impact of hard wall. He slowly got up and straitened himself, fully intending to swear the Conduit out and damn the consequences, but then he realized something.  
  
He wasn't in the White Room anymore.  
  
In fact, he was in the elevator. The annoying elevator music humming lightly in the background. He took a moment to compose himself, mulling over the overload of information he'd just received. Every time he turned around, it seemed a new problem arose. Maybe the PTB had set up some type of quota for him? He just hoped Buffy would wake up soon, so he'd finally have a chance to talk to her. It was crucial . . .  
  
Then, the elevator doors pinged open to reveal Fred and Spike on the other side. All thoughts took a back seat as Spike and Angel, pausing for a second, eyed each other's identical masks of misery. They quickly recovered, though, slipping into each of their own default expressions.  
  
Spike tried to look nonchalant, "How'd your thing go?"  
  
Angel turned annoyed, "About as good as yours, I'm guessing."  
  
He shrugged lightly, and walked into the elevator with Fred. The elevator music was the only thing heard for a few moments on the ride up, and Angel found himself wondering if there was a hell dimension somewhere out there that used this type of music as their primary source of torture. It was just too damn effective to pass up.  
  
"So, um . . ." Fred said meekly, breaking the silence. "Anybody going to tell me anything?"  
  
The unrelenting music of hell was her only response.  
  
Her shoulders sagged. "Fine. Don't. What do I care anyway? Its not like I have an emotional investment in what goes on around here . . . Oh wait, I do."  
  
"Fred, it's nothing personal," Angel began, "I just don't feel like talking about it."  
  
"Ditto," Spike said.  
  
"Fine," Fred replied, "Far be it for me to interrupt the Brood-Olympics of 2004. I'd just like to warn you, Angel, that Spike may just give you a run for your money."  
  
The elevator doors opened, and they all walked outside into the lobby. Angel immediately began making his way into his office where his next couple of hours were slated for brooding and contemplation. But when he watched Wesley walking towards him, a slip of paper in his hands and an apologetic look on his face, Angel knew his troubles had only just begun.  
  
"What now?" Angel sighed.  
  
Wesley handed him the small piece of paper in his hands. "Cordelia left a note," he informed.  
  
He looked down at the note and felt a foreboding sense run up his spine. Hesitantly, Angel opened the note and read, with Spike reading over his shoulders the entire time. As he read it, relief washed over him as he read that Buffy had finally awakened and was fine. But the relief was short lived as he finished reading the letter. It was perhaps comical the way the two vampires exclaimed the same exact thing at the same exact time, but Angel didn't find it even remotely funny.  
  
. . . Gone to kill demons at the UCLA library?  
  
"They did what?!!"  
  
-- 


	9. Drama Queen

Chapter Nine

-

"Okay, I just have to ask." Cordelia said, entering the library. Not surprisingly, the large building was filled with students during the midday rush. "Do we have an actual plan?"

"Plan?" Buffy questioned, bewildered.

"Oh, yeah. That inspires confidence," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes. "You're at least familiar with the term, right? Plan. Puh-lan."

Buffy sent her a withering glare. "No. I'm not, Cordelia. Could you explain the complexities behind this odd word. And possibly try sounding it out again? Cause I'm sure that will help lots with the demon killing we're about to encounter."

"Buffy, there are people here. Think beyond your guttural instincts," Cordelia replied. "You can't go slaying in the middle of the UCLA library in broad daylight."

"Hey, it was the demons that picked this place for their sacrifice, so we don't really have a choice. Besides, people will clear out fast enough once the fighting starts," Buffy reasoned. "It's one of the constants in a brawl. That, and broken furniture."

"Buffy, this isn't the Capital of Repression Land like Sunnydale. You can't do that here!"

They were both shushed by a young student passing by, and a tad high- strung, they both turned to glare at him. Cordelia wasn't sure if it was the arcane sword in her hands, the crossbow in Buffy's, or the combination of their menacing scowls, but the guy backed up a step and quickly scurried away.

Cordelia continued, in a softer voice. "It's been a while since you've done the whole 'saving the innocents' gig, but let me go over some of the basic rules."

"Oh good, could you? And please, go slow," Buffy said, bitingly.

Cordelia smiled, undaunted. "Rule number one is - shock of all shockers - making sure the innocents don't get hurt. Does that sound familiar at all? Ring a bell?"

"They won't get hurt," Buffy replied, agitated. "Give me a little credit here, Cordelia. Not only did I do this for most of my adult life, but I was also damn good at it."

"So you have a plan?"

Buffy paused. "Not precisely, no."   
Cordelia gave her an exasperated look. "No wonder you died three times!"

Buffy turned defensive. "I said I don't have a plan. That doesn't mean I won't think of one. I'm a little rusty, granted, but slaying isn't something you forget. And one thing about it, that I remember clearly, is that you have to improvise. Be resourceful. Plans only work in theory."

Cordelia paused, and reluctantly admitted that there was truth in Buffy's words. "You know, one of these days I want to move to Theory," she commented, annoyed. "Everything always works there."

Buffy turned away and looked around the large building with interest. To an outside observer, one might have thought she was appreciating the architecture, not appraising it for battle. But then, most people didn't know a thing about the destruction level Buffy was capable of. She thought 'nonflammable' was something to be challenged.

Idly, Cordelia watched as Buffy's eyes traveled the length of the library and finally focused on something. She smiled, and walked over to the exiting door. It was a second after a high pitched alarm echoed throughout the building, that Cordelia realized what Buffy had done. She had pulled the fire alarm.

The result was perfect. Most students almost immediately began packing up their stuff to quickly leave. Buffy raised an eyebrow, as if to challenge Cordelia's biting tongue at the 'plan' Buffy had followed through on.

Cordelia didn't disappoint. "Just don't blow the place up, Buffy. One library in a lifetime is more than enough for a person, thanks."

Buffy rolled her eyes, turning away. "Blow up one highschool and you're branded for life."

"Two," Cordelia replied, quickly. "I recall something about burning down the gym at Hemery High. I'm sure one day they'll name tornadoes after you."

"Bite me," Buffy responded, eloquently.

Cordelia smirked, and along with Buffy, waited for several minutes for the evacuation to take effect. They hid in the back, waiting impatiently and as silently as they could until the sound of the door closing one last time indicated that the last of the students and employees had left. Once that happened, they emerged from the back, weapons ready at hand.

"At least everybody's gone. No civilian casualties today," Cordelia said. "Let's just hope the Firemen don't show up soon."

"Yeah," Buffy replied. "But where are your demons? Are they tryin' to be fashionably late or something? We don't have much ti--"

BAM!!

The explosion from the side of the building knocked both Buffy and Cordelia off their feet. Cordelia was thrown half way across the aisle they were in, and hit one of the large oak book selves with a hard impact. It knocked the wind out of her, but she stubbornly and slowly pulled herself up. Her entire left side stung with a familiar pain that would definitely bruise come morning.

She looked over and found Buffy a few feet away, more or less in the same condition as her, and couldn't help but commenting. "No, I'd say they're right on time."

Buffy grunted. "Just remember, I didn't blow this one up. This explosion is on the bad guy's record."

"And that's the story I'll stick to," Cordelia replied, dryly. "Even under interrogation."

They slowly got up, finding a good portion of the library around them in shambles. And just far off into the corner, where the gaping hole that Cordelia could only deduce was where the explosion had come from, entered a band of the same demons she'd seen in her visions. Big, ugly, and sporting purple cloaks strait out of Harry Potter, Cordelia watched as several demons walked towards the center of the library. They stopped, and gathered around the one that she could only assume was the leader.

"Gather the sacrifices!" he ordered, in a guttural voice. "On the hallowed grounds of scholars, the Unearthing Ceremony will commence."

Cordelia looked over at Buffy, "Why can't these people ever keep anything earthed?"

Buffy shrugged, and slowly walked over to her. Together, halfway hidden behind a bookshelf, they watched as the demons started spreading out through the library. Little did they know that the library had been evacuated just moments before.

"Okay," Buffy said, "I've got a plan."

"Let me guess?" Cordelia replied. "Kill the demons."

"Pretty much, yeah," Buffy responded, lamely. "I hadn't figured out the how, yet."

Cordelia nodded, and quickly tried to come up with something herself. "Try decapitation," she offered cheerfully, drawing a blank otherwise. "Seems to work ninety percent of the time."

"Yeah, but it's the ten percent that bother me." Buffy replied, and held her crossbow to Cordelia. "Trade with me."

Cordelia complied, passing Buffy the sword while accepting the crossbow. She also took the wooden arrows from Buffy, and received a pointed look along with them.

"Just don't hit me." Buffy said, eyeing the wooden arrows.

"Hey, what makes you think I'd be that bad of an aim?"

"Survival instinct," Buffy replied. "Just remember, the pointy side goes into the bad demons, not me. Buffy good, other demons bad."

"I'll tattoo it backwards on my forehead," Cordelia responded, tersely. "Are you going to go anytime soon?"

"I found two sacrifices!" A demon suddenly shouted.

Cordelia and Buffy both froze, wondering that if during their arguing, one of the demons had spotted them. Cordelia reluctantly admitted to herself that it'd teach them a lesson about bickering. But then as several of the demons dragged two college students, a boy and girl, into the center of the library, she knew who the two sacrifices really were.

Cordelia watched with a foreboding sense in her stomach as they tried in vain to struggle against their captors. The boy wildly swung out at the demon closest to him, and although Cordelia had to give him credit for spunk, she couldn't help but wince when he received not only a rough punch in return, but also a weird, freaky blast from one of the demon's staffs. The blast, blue and fiery, knocked the boy back several feet and he lay there withering weakly in pain.

"Ouch," Buffy muttered, in sympathy. "That's gonna leave a mark."

"I thought the library was evacuated!" Cordelia whispered, harshly.

"Apparently not," Buffy replied, deciding on something. "Okay, it's time. I'm going in. Watch my back from here, but don't draw any attention to yourself until the perfect moment."

Cordelia grabbed her arm before she left. "I'm going in soon. Someone has to make sure you come back with your head still attached."

Reluctantly, Buffy nodded and left Cordelia behind the bookshelf. She watched from her hidden corner as Buffy stalked towards the demons. A quick flash of uneasiness ran through her as she remembered a time that Buffy - evil Buffy - had stalked towards her in just the same manner, but the thought was quickly dispelled as the current situation demanded undivided attention.

"Hey!" Buffy called out, "Why don't you pick on somebody my own size?"

Lame puns, Cordelia noted. Buffy was definitely channeling her slayer side.

The demons simultaneously looked up at Buffy approaching them with a large sword in her hand. Cordelia knew what they were thinking. She would have thought it herself. Even the two college students on the floor stopped struggling for a second to send her a 'what the hell?' look.

"What?" Buffy questioned, annoyed. "Haven't any of you seen a pregnant woman before?"

The boy on the floor, apparently lucid enough to see the strangeness of the situation, regarded her with a bewildered expression. "Not one wielding a sword, no."

Buffy rolled her eyes and muttered, "Somebody leads a sheltered life."

Cordelia smirked. She knew for a fact that Buffy always managed to follow through on moves that were graceful and lethal and defied logic for a pregnant lady. Defied logic of physics, even. On any other woman, it would have looked too bizarre for words, but perhaps because Cordelia was use to it, or simply knew Buffy too well, that when Cordelia saw her friend break out into slaying, even heavily pregnant, it looked like the most natural thing in the world.

"Keep her alive," the leader ordered. "Her double life force will be a good sacrifice."

"Sure thing, Yoda," Buffy quipped. "But I have to warn ya - I bite."

The demon's eyes mocked her. "Insignificant vermin, what could a weak woman such as yourself be capable of?"

"You ended that sentence with a preposition. Bastard."

The demons gathered around her, circling Buffy from every corner, and Cordelia had to bite down on her tongue to keep from warning Buffy about the demon that rushed her from behind. All well and good, though, because Buffy must have sensed it and did a graceful leap into the air at precisely the right moment, and left the demon crashing into another one of their own.

Cordelia watched as chaos broke out. All the demons, save for the two that were 'protecting' their sacrifices, started to attack Buffy. It was perhaps the fact that she not only handled the numerous demons encroaching on her with ease, but also with an elegance, that Cordelia reluctantly admitted she was slightly jealous of Buffy's moves. She'd never seen anyone fight as well as Buffy. Angel, Angelus, and Spike included.

"Do you not know the pain you will suffer for this impertinence?" one of the demons demanded.

"I don't know the meaning of the word," Buffy mocked, then paused. ". . . No, seriously. I don't know what it means."

Cordelia decided to use the cover of the chaos near Buffy to finally make her move.   
Silently sneaking towards the two unfortunate college students who were held captive, Cordelia got close enough to aim at the demons that held them. With a steady hand, born from experience instead of instinct like Buffy, she pulled the trigger with perfect aim. It hit one of the demons directly in the chest, and an odd greenish liquid seeped out. It dropped to the floor dead, and Cordelia faced the second one with apprehension as it rushed towards her at full speed. Cordelia reloaded her crossbow a second too late, and the demon easily caught up with her and knocked it away. Weaponless, and facing a demon twice her size, Cordelia began backing away.

The demon raised his fire-blasting weapon towards her.

"Watch out for his staff-thingie!" The college boy yelled from the floor. "It's powerful!!"

"Thank you for that fine assessment of the situation," Cordelia snapped, dogging a fiery blue blast. "I'll file it under 'Shit I Already Knew!'"

She dropped to the floor to avoid several follow up blasts, and could hear the crisp singe of the carpet around her where the blasts hit instead. The demon finally abandoned that technique and came up with another. Hands-on violence. She wasn't sure if she'd traded up on that or not.

It grabbed her by the throat and hauled her up. She struggled vainly to breath and quickly, before she started seeing stars and spots everywhere, Cordelia did what only came natural in this instant. A move that was quickly becoming a classic for her - one that had the effect of unilaterally sending every man in the near vicinity cringing in sympathy.

She kneed him in the groin.

Luckily for her, and unfortunately for him, the demon's anatomy was similar to that of humans, and a bony knee connected with his tender spot. He groaned and dropped her to the floor.

"I'll kill you for that!" it growled in pain.

"For that?" Cordelia questioned incredulous, gasping for air. "So why were you trying to kill me before?!"

It stood up and towered over her, and just when Cordelia was trying to think of her next move, the demon jerked in pain. With it's eyes wide with surprise, she saw the demon slowly tip over like a fallen tree, an arrow sticking out of it's back. Behind him revealed the college boy standing, crossbow ready in hand.

"Thanks," Cordelia muttered, surprised.

He shrugged, nervously. "Don't mention it."

The girl next to him slowly stood up, brushed an unruly strand of her fiery red hair away, and looked around apprehensively. Her eyes focused on the violent fight Buffy was in. "Anybody else see a pregnant lady goin' Matrix on a bunch of . . . whatever those are?"

"Demons," Cordelia supplied, looking over at Buffy's fight.

"Demons?" the boy repeated, weakly. "And here I thought a chemistry exam was the worst thing I had to face today."

"Yeah," Cordelia said, distractedly. "Let's get you two out of here."

"What about her?" The boy asked, pointing towards Buffy.

They watched as Buffy did a round-house kick that defied the laws of gravity, taking down two demons simultaneously. There was only one demon left standing, and Cordelia knew it was only a matter of time before Buffy defeated him, too.

"I think she can handle herself." Cordelia answered, lightly. "Give me my crossbow, and exit through the back, now."

"What about you?" the boy replied. "We can't just leave you here."

The girl hit him in the shoulder, angrily. "Oh, yes we can! They can obviously handle it."

"She's right," Cordelia added, "We can--"

"There!" Buffy yelled, exasperated. She'd finally killed the last of them and now stood among a pile of fallen demons. "Who's weak now, Mister-Dead- Evil-Demon-Guy?"

"You alright?" Cordelia questioned.

"Yeah," Buffy answered, walking over. "You?"

"Pretty good," Cordelia answered. "I got saved here by Boy Wonder."

The guy seemed to be extremely pleased with the compliment, but tried really hard to hide it. "Oh, you know. It's nothing," he stammered, then looked at Buffy. "But you almost broke that guy in half . . . That was awesome!"

The girl next to him rolled her eyes in exasperation, "You know, one of these days I'm going to introduce you to an old friend of mine. He's called Rational Thinking."

Cordelia and Buffy exchanged looks, thinking the same thing. Boyfriend and girlfriend.

"Oh, c'mon Tracy," the boy exclaimed, "You have to admit that whole Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon scene we just watched was pretty high on the coolness scale."

"What I have to admit is that you're in desperate need of psychiatric help," the girl named Tracy replied. "What is with guys and kung fu, anyway?"

"Riiiight," Buffy said, drawing attention. "Guys, I don't mean to sound overly dramatic, but the building is falling down around us! Let's--"

The ground suddenly shook violently, leaving everyone to stand on wobbly legs. The first thought that went through Cordelia's head was earthquake, this being California and all, but when it shook again, it slowly dawned on her that it felt different from an earthquake. The shakes came in intervals, pausing in between. Cordelia and Buffy shared a foreboding look, as the tremors slowly grew louder and stronger.

It almost felt like . . . impact tremors. Something that a really, really big thing would make.

"Uh, Cordelia?" Buffy began, nervously, "In your visions, did you happen to see what these demons were sacrificing to?"

Cordelia paused, then weakly answered, "No."

Which was precisely when the floor before them broke open, leaving everyone to quickly retreat from the caving floor. They ended up on their backs, dust covered and apprehensive, and just feet away from a gigantic hole in the middle of the UCLA library.

"Oh god," Buffy muttered, "Deja-vu."

"Uh, I think this is the whole 'Unearthing' thing they were talking about," Cordelia ventured.

"Ya think?" was Buffy's sarcastic reply.

A large guttural roar echoed throughout the building, coming from the hole.

"If I were to scream right now," The boy muttered, wide eyed. "Would that betray my cool manly exterior?"

They didn't answer, because at that precise moment, a gigantic two-headed, twenty foot monstrosity slowly arose from the crumbled floor and towered over them. It was nearly as tall as the roof, Cordelia thought with a healthy and completely justified dose of mind numbing fear. Covered in dust and grime, it's four red eyes searched the building and eventually settled upon them. It grinned, with both sets of teeth, and Cordelia may have squeaked in terror.

"This should have definitely been in your vision!" Buffy exclaimed, harshly. "The PTB need to work on their communication skills!"

"Plan?" Cordelia asked.

Buffy looked over at her, "Run!!"

Cordelia thought, all things considered, that was an extremely good plan and didn't need to be told twice. Along with the two college students, they raced across the library and towards the exit. Once there, she started ushering the two students out.

"What about--"

"Just go!" Cordelia shouted, slightly high pitched. "We do this professionally. We know what we're doing."

"You do this professionally?" Tracy asked, incredulous. "Who do you work for?"

"Uh . . . Wolfram and Hart," Cordelia answered, distractedly. "Now go!"

"The law firm?" the boy questioned, matching his girlfriend's tone.

"Yes!" Cordelia snapped. "And if you have any sense of self-preservation, you'll freakin' leave! Now!"

God, what was it with the youth of these days?

They finally left, the boy especially reluctant, and the door closed behind them. Cordelia quickly looked back to find Buffy waging war with the monstrosity. She winced as Buffy took a particularly hard blow and was tossed back several feet.

"Buffy, are you hurt?" Cordelia shouted, concerned.

"Oh, yeah," Buffy replied, as she pulled herself up slowly. "But it's okay, really. The only thing wounded is my pride and ego!"

Vaguely, she heard the door behind her open once again, and expecting the two kids to have returned with the determination to help, or somebody else equally unwelcomed, she whirled around to usher them back out again.

The sight of Angel and Spike, heavily armed, greeted her instead. Relief washed over her and too grateful to question their sudden appearance, she quickly pointed over to the huge demon.

"Kill it!" she ordered.

Spike sent her a withering glare. "Me and you are going to have words after this."

She watched as they both passed her by and stalked towards the center of the library with determination. And then suddenly, for a brief second, she comically wondered where the gust of wind came from, because their respective leather jackets and dusters flapped dramatically in the wind, and with fierce looks on their faces and swords ready in hand, they both looked quite formidable.

Drama Queens, Cordelia thought, the both of them.

"Hey," Buffy acknowledged, keeping her eyes on the demon. "Not to sound ungrateful or anything, cause I'm not, but what are you guys doing here?"

"Oh, you know," Angel answered, lightly. "In the neighborhood."

"Saw an explosion and heard a bloody fight," Spike continued."Who could resist that?"

"Not you two, that's for sure," Buffy answered. She turned her head for just a second to look at them, and nearly got her head knocked off by a wild swing of the demon's claws. Angel was there to stop it, however, and she looked up at him and smiled. "Guess I should be glad, huh?"

"Your undying gratitude wouldn't be totally out of line, here," Angel replied, helping her up.

"Neither would my righteous indignation," Buffy replied. "Who said I needed to be saved?"

Spike and Angel exchanged a look, obviously conveying a mutual thought that Cordelia didn't even want to think about.

"Hey!" Cordelia yelled, "Update people - DEMON!!"

Spike rolled his eyes. "To use a popular Sunnydale phrase: Duh. Who do you take us for, you--"

His ranting was interrupted by the demon - slamming him to the ground. It looked quite painful from Cordelia's point of view.

"Yeah, it has a habit of doing that," Buffy said, sympathetically. "Me and the floor are like the best of buddies now."

"I guess asking you to step away, for the sake of your pregnancy, would be futile, right?" Angel asked.

Buffy gave him a look. "Depends. If the result you're looking for is a swift kick in the--"

"Ahh!" Cordelia screamed, pointing to the demon. "It's growing a new head, people! Make it stop!"

They all turned towards the demon, and sure enough, a third head was slowly protruding out from the shoulders, slime covering it completely. The two- headed demon had turned into a three-headed demon.

_Fantastic.   
_   
"And just when I thought it couldn't get uglier," Buffy remarked, looking over at Spike and Angel. "Well, three heads . . . Three of us."

"If you're asking for a threesome--" Spike began, glibly.

"I'll take the head on the right," Angel cut in, sparing an annoyed glance at Spike.

"I'll take the middle one," Buffy added.

Spike smirked. "Guess that leaves the left one for me."

And then, in an almost casual manner, they circled the demon, prepared to work together. Angel and Spike instinctively flanked Buffy, becoming a triad force, and even with adrnenalin running high, Cordelia paused to look at the scene. Angel, Buffy, and Spike - fighting together. Individually, they were formidable enough. But together, these three were unstoppably deadly. Cordelia found herself idly wondering how long the demon would last. She almost felt sorry for it . . .

Yeah right, Cordelia snorted, and she believed in the Easter Bunny, too.

"First one to kill their head," she cheered, "gets a pint of blood on me!"

They attacked simultaneously.

All three battling alongside each other, moves seamlessly flowing together, Cordelia observed as they practically anticipated each other's moves. Where one attacked, the others defended. Where one ducked, the others advanced. They dodged, fought, kicked, punched, and slashed in a series of steps that would have looked coordinated, if not for the fact that it obviously wasn't.

Hours later, when the fire department could finally enter the building, having been strangely stalled for hours by several Wolfram and Hart lawyers out front, all they found was destruction and chaos . . . And a whole lot of green slime they couldn't for the life of them identify.

Cordelia, Buffy, Angel, and Spike would be long gone.

--

Wesley was in Gunn's office, sitting in one of the plush leather chairs while the lawyer in front of him waded through mounds of paperwork. They had been making mindless small talk for several minutes now, but both minds were preoccupied with far more serious thoughts than those of 'weather,' 'sports,' and the 'geopolitical ramifications of mass demon migration in the continental US.'

Okay, so maybe some of that wouldn't be considered small talk by normal standards, but such topics became redundant in their line of work.

"Man, I am seriously bored," Gunn admitted, dropping a pile of paperwork onto his desk. "I mean, I enjoy all this work and all. But I kinda feel like . . ."

". . . Like a chump for doing mindless piles of inconsequential paperwork while a good quarter of our team is out there fighting against demon hordes?" Wesley supplied, dispirited.

Gunn paused for a beat. "Actually, I was going to say I kinda feel like eating out."

"Oh," Wesley responded, meekly.

Gunn smirked. "Truth is, though, your thing is a little more accurate. More syllables than I would have used, but more accurate."

"Thought so."

"Damn, when did we become these guys?" Gunn questioned, "When in our history did we decide that staying at the office was more important than kickin' some demon ass?"

"About the same time we accepted this job, I think."

Gunn winced, "I think I knew that answer."

Wesley examined his friend closely. "Still, it seems you're adjusting quite well with our new arrangements. Far better than the rest of us, anyway."

Gunn shrugged, "Can't really explain it. I just feel like we're doing some good here. Like it fits me, you know what I mean?"

"I wish I did," Wesley replied. "Most days I have to remind myself forcefully why we're even here to begin with."

"We're doing good, Wes," Gunn said. "It may not seem like it, because we don't see the faces of everyone we save, but we're doing good."

Wesley looked pointedly at the stack of paperwork. "Once again, I wish I had your faith. I can't think of the last innocent we saved."

"Well, I'm not sure you can classify her as 'innocent,' but we seem to be doing good with Buffy," Gunn replied. "I've almost completed the legal contracts binding the baby's future to her. It'll take some of the heat off her back with the demon cults looking to cash in on her baby. And from what Cordelia tells us, the girl had it tough. We're making it a little easier."

"She's presently fighting demons, Gunn," Wesley reminded him. "I hardly call that taking it easy."

Gunn shrugged. "Way I hear it, the girl's instincts are wired for fighting. Might as well point her in the right direction."

Wesley paused, then voiced a thought that had been plaguing him for the last two days. "And what happens if a gust of wind turns her around?"

Gunn raised an eyebrow. "You worried she's gonna turn on us?"

"What I'm worried about is that no one else seems to be even slightly worried about that." Wesley responded. "It is something we should consider a possibility, at least. The soul isn't hers. It's not binding in the same fashion as Angel's and Spike's."

"Is her situation really all that different?"

Wesley had been thinking about it for quite some time, and didn't hesitate on answering. "As different as a locked cage, and one that's held closed by a string of thread. It could make all the difference in the world. The soul isn't hers. I can't emphasize enough the importance of that."

"I don't know, man. Cordelia's confident she's on the strait and narrow."

"Yes, Cordelia's very adamant," Wesley responded, sighing. "Which is why I haven't raised the issue before. She's too adamant. I don't even want to think about the reaction I'd get from her if I were to question Buffy's loyalties."

"You'd be lucky if you survived with your balls still intact," Gunn mused. "And she ain't even your biggest threat."

"Angel and Spike," Wesley acknowledged, nodding. "Buffy is the one thing they all seem to agree about. Sure, they'll go forty rounds arguing over who'll win in a fight between cavemen and astronauts, but _this_ they agree about."

"Talk about your touchy subject," Gunn noted sardonically. "Here's some advice: if you question Buffy in front of them, come armed with a cross."

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of Holy Water," Wesley stated, in all seriousness. He sighed. "I wish I didn't have to bring this up with them, but somebody needs to. We can't ignore the possibility simply because it's unseemly. We need to be prepared for the nightmare scenario Buffy could easily turn into."

Gunn winced. "I heard enough stories from Cordelia these last two days. I'll admit, she made that whole Darla thing we went through seem like a walk in the park by comparison."

"Yes, exactly. In Cordelia's world, Darla never even came about," Wesley reminded. "It was Buffy that nearly drove Angel insane. And it was Buffy, through magic, that removed his soul. She showed a remarkable talent for causing chaos and destruction, and that's why I think underestimating her now could be a dire mistake."

"Okay, I hear ya loud and clear," Gunn said, slowly. "If this girl decided to embrace her vampire side again, we'd be in trouble."

"With a capitol 'T,'" Wesley replied. "And with three of our people so heavily invested in her well-being, such as they are, we'd be blindsided until it was too late."

Gunn paused. "You really think she could fool us like that?"

"Let me put it another way," Wesley answered, "Do you think Angelus could pull it off?"

Gunn didn't need much time to think about it. "Yeah . . . but Angelus is over two hundred years old," he reasoned. "He's got experience and skills, not to mention the type of crazy that mental illnesses are named after. Angelus is in his own league."

Wesley disagreed. "Here's a history lesson for you: Buffy is the only person I've ever met who's bested him. You can't discount her experience and skills, either. She was the Slayer. For years, she was the thing darkness itself feared."

"Way to sound over dramatic," Gunn chided. "Slayers are a big deal, I get it. Don't need to be all Drama Queen about it."

"I'm not being 'all Drama Queen' about it . . . And if you insist on using that phrase, why can't it be Drama King?" Wesley asked, petulant.

"The mental picture of you in a princess tiara is just too damn priceless," Gunn replied.

Wesley narrowed his eyes, but continued. "My experience as a former watcher probably isn't the best litmus test to go by, but even I understood the sacred significance and responsibility a Slayer held. Some cultures even worshiped them, and not without cause. To take that same instrument of good, and turn into the very thing it's here to fight against . . . I imagine my father would have phrased it along the lines of an abomination."

"Wow," Gunn replied, quickly. "Ugly word."

"Very. And while I don't view Buffy as such, the notion of a slayer-vampire hybrid doesn't exactly inspire warm, fuzzy feelings for me," Wesley said, taking a deep breath in a vain effort to try and calm himself. "Is this making any sense or am I being a tad cynical here?"

"Cynical, you? Naw," Gunn commented, dryly. "I personally felt that when you used the word 'abomination,' you defined a whole new level of optimism."

Wesley rolled his eyes. "It's just that . . . I don't want our people to get hurt. And with so many emotions in the air, judgments can be effected."

"And how's your judgment fairing?" Gunn questioned, pointedly.

Wesley paused, then looked up at Gunn with surprise. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"Kettle - meet pot," Gunn replied, lightly. "Look in the mirror, Wes. Your opinion of her isn't exactly unbiased. Maybe you're overcompensating for everyone else?"

Gunn leaned back in his chair and didn't say anything further. And so, reluctantly, Wesley turned introspective. Was he painting too much of a one- sided argument here? Was he showing the right amount of mistrust to Buffy, or was he sounding paranoid? This was Buffy they were talking about, after all. The girl who once was one of the strongest champions of light he had ever met. She may have potential for great evil, yes, but he'd seen first hand her capacity to do great good also.

Which side should he put faith in? Which side was the stronger?

Wesley paused. "Maybe. I have to admit, if I know of anyone that has consistently defied the odds, besides Angel that is, then Buffy would be it. She had a remarkable talent for overcoming evil."

"This is from your experience as her Watcher, right?"

"I was her Watcher in the loosest term possible," Wesley replied. "You have to remember, back then, I had the personality of a . . ." He trailed off, trying to find the right word.

". . . A very dull English muffin?" Gunn suggested, helpfully.

Wesley glared at him. "See, there are times when you're funny . . . And then there's now."

"Hey, I'm only tryin' to help." Gunn replied, grinning.

"Anyway, we didn't exactly get along," Wesley continued. "In the role of her Watcher, I failed rather spectacularly, and because of that, she wasn't exactly the model slayer either - not that she ever was, really. But I do remember clearly thinking she wasn't your average slayer. She was just slightly a cut above the rest."

"She could kick serious ass," Gunn concluded, nodding.

"Not just that," Wesley replied. "She had style and grace, as well. Not to mention an interesting sense of humor. It was a trait I didn't appreciate fully at the time. Probably because I was, on more than one occasion, the inspiration for her humor."

"She made fun of you," Gunn deduced, smirking. "I think I might like her."

"Many did," Wesley reluctantly agreed. "In fact, it seems ironic now, but the person who was least taken with her charm was Cordelia."

"You know, I think I figured that part out a long time ago." Gunn said, "Cordelia - I mean, our Cordelia, the one that's dea-" He visibly choked on the word, then cleared his throat. ". . . Anyway, she never liked to even hear Buffy's name."

"That was more for Angel's sake," Wesley replied. ". . . Mostly, anyway."

"And now, she's the head cheerleader for Team Buffy," Gunn reflected. "Times are changing."

Wesley sighed, softly. "More like the people are changing, Gunn. We have to remember, she's . . . she's not our Cordelia."

Gunn's eyes connected with his, and something inexplicably painful passed between them. "Yeah," Gunn answered, just as softly. "I know."

A moment of silence settled over them, and even though neither wanted to acknowledge the pink elephant in the room, Wesley knew it needed to be addressed. They'd both been noticing things about Cordelia.

"She seems . . . different, doesn't she?"

"I wouldn't say different," Gunn replied, slowly. "A bit more . . . distant, maybe?"

"Yeah, distant," Wesley agreed awkwardly, as if speaking of it was betraying Cordelia in some way. "Almost like she's . . . avoiding us?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Wesley hesitated, than looked at Gunn with guarded eyes. "Why do you think that is?"

Gunn shrugged, and shifted in his seat. "She's probably having a hard time adjusting. This isn't her world, after all."

"And by that same notion, would that make us . . . not her friends?"

"Hey! We're her friends," Gunn responded, heatedly. "We're just . . . okay, I suppose technically we're not her friends, because she's from an alternate reality. But we're still . . . I still think of her as . . ." He sighed, "You know what I mean, right?"

"Of course, I do," Wesley responded adamantly, then hesitated before going on. "But have you noticed that when she looks at us, she has this look in her eyes like . . . like we're wrong - well, not wrong - but not the way we're supposed to be? Yesterday, I was talking to her about a date I had with Fred, and she got this expression . . ."

Gunn smirked, humorless. "I know that look. It's the same one I got when she saw me sitting here in this office. It was a 'what the hell' look."

Wesley sighed, "It's quite frustrating."

Gunn nodded, silent.

"But its not like I don't know where she's coming from," Wesley added, quickly. "She has gone through a terrible ordeal. Adjusting to this world and each of our own subtle differences will take work. I understand that."

"Yeah," Gunn agreed, quickly. "Work and, of course, time."

Wesley nodded in agreement, and at the same time it feebly occurred to him that they were doing a whole lot of agreeing in this specific topic. Neither wanted to admit to the deep seeded thoughts they were having, though. That slowly and surely, in a completely new way, they were losing Cordelia all over again.

This time to herself. And to her unwillingness to move forward from the past.

Gunn sighed, "I just wish it wouldn't be this hard, though."

Wesley had an inkling of what he was talking about, but asked anyway. "What?"

"This," Gunn replied. "Cordelia came back into our lives. Why should that be hard?"

Wesley smiled, humorless. "Because that's life."

"Yeah, well . . . Life sucks sometimes."

And - who didn't see this coming? - Wesley agreed. "I wish we could make her see that . . . that she may not be the same Cordelia we knew for years, but we're still willing to give her a space in our lives. Bloody hell, we're still willing to lay down our lives for her! Doesn't that count for anything anymore?"

"I know. Exactly!" Gunn agreed. "No one respects a good lay-down-your-life- for-your-friend-thing anymore. It's become underrated!"

"It's become 'cliche,' is what it is," Wesley mocked, dryly. "Too many people are doing it these days!"

"Right," Gunn agreed, just as dryly. "Cause that's nothing compared to a good heart-to-heart."

"Yeah," Wesley nodded, enthusiastically. "Who needs an emotional conversation when you have proclamations of death to back you up?"

They both adamantly agreed . . . then paused simultaneously, eyeing each other.

"You do realize one of us is going to have to have a heart-to-heart with her, right?" Gunn asked.

"Oh, yeah," Wesley reluctantly responded.

Then, he noticed Gunn's intense and pointed gaze.

"What?" Wesley questioned. "Not with me, of course."

"Why not?" Gunn asked. "If it should be anybody, it should be you. You've known her the longest."

"Actually, Angel has," Wesley was quick to point out.

Gunn looked incredulous. "You wanna send Angel into this? Angel and Cordelia have their own major issues to deal with. You put too much onto to them, it'll be like Krakatau, if you know what I mean. This conversation with Cordelia needs to come from someone who doesn't carry as much melodramatic baggage as Angel does."

"And why not you?" Wesley asked.

"Because she's closer to you."

"Oh, please," Wesley responded, dismissible. "You're just trying to weasel your way out of it."

"You're damn strait, I am," Gunn replied. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong. You're the guy for this, Wesley. You know that."

Wesley turned away, knowing somewhere along the way the argument had already been won.

"Just subtly remind her that we're there for her," Gunn advised. "Remind her that we may not be exactly who she wants us to be, but we still care about her . . . Wait, on second thought, this is Cordelia we're talking about. Screw subtlety. Hit her over the head with it. Repeatedly, if necessary."

Wesley shoulders slumped. "This is shaping up to be a fun conversation."

"I've got faith in you, English," Gunn encouraged. "Just start off easy. Ask her if she wants tea or something . . . And then go in for the awkward, pain inspiring pep-talk. You'll do fine."

Wesley simply glared at Gunn in response.

Gunn leaned back in his chair. "Just don't mention the whole 'Buffy' thing to her. Unless you want to walk around with a limp for the next few days, don't tell her about your suspicions."

"Noted," Wesley agreed, "but I still have to discuss the issue of Buffy with Angel, at least."

"Good luck with that," Gunn replied, wryly.

Despite the foreboding sense spreading through him at the prospect of not one, but two uncomfortable conversations on the horizon, Wesley felt immensely better. Talking with Gunn had alleviated some of his demons, ones that he'd kept bottled up for the last two days. The threat of Buffy was serious, and although he saw the virtue of her intentions and strength, Wesley still harbored some scepticism when it came to the pregnant blonde.

And as for Cordelia, with her growing distance, Wesley just hoped he'd know what to say when the time came. Emotional conversations were not his forte, as he was sure any man would say, but he realized the importance of it. He just hoped he wouldn't screw it up. The last thing he needed was to put more distance between him and Cordelia.

Briefly, he wondered how Angel was fairing in all of this. Wesley would not trade places with the souled vampire, either of them actually - Spike included - for all the money in the world. They both had connections to these two women more complicated than soap operas.

A sudden knock at the door attracted his attention, and both Gunn and he turned to look at Harmony as she popped her head in.

"Hey guys," she greeted. "Do you know when Buffy and Cordelia are comin' back?"

"Pretty soon," Gunn answered. "Actually, they should have been here already. Why?"

"There's these two teenagers out here that are looking for them," Harmony answered. "They said something about being at the UCLA library when it went all kabloo-y. Can you believe it, Buffy blew up another library!"

"These kids were there when it happened?" Wesley questioned.

"Yeah," she answered, "They wanted to say thanks, or something. But Buffy and Cordelia aren't back, yet. And neither are Spike and Angel, so I thought--"

"Send them in," Wesley interrupted. "We'll keep them company until the group returns."

She nodded, then turned around to motion them in. Two young students entered the room, and Wesley watched as they awkwardly looked around.

"Guys," Harmony introduced, "This is Tracy - it is Tracy, right?"

The girl nodded, "Yeah, Tracy Adams."

Harmony nodded, then looked over at the boy. "And um . . . what was your name again?"

"Connor," he answered, with a lighthearted smile. "My name's Connor."

-


	10. Diner Date

a/n - This chapter is unbeta'd! All errors are mine and do not in any form reflect my regular wonderful beta, MadelineFate.

-

The fight was over, and that meant one thing. It was time to celebrate.

And as often was with Buffy lately, celebrating meant coupious amounts of food. Thus, the group had settled down in a local diner, ready to relax. All that is, except for Buffy, who with her exceptional form of luck was pacing outside taking deep breaths to quell the 'morning sickness that knew no time' (as Cordelia put it). Her nausea had suddenly flared, and forcefully declining the escort of the three people she was with, she exited the building and concentrated on not spewing red chunks all over the pavement floor.

Sometimes, being pregnant sucked big time.

Still, the weather outside was actually nice. The cool night air whipped around her, and slightly chilly, she rubbed her shoulders for warmth. Cordelia, Angel, and Spike were inside the local diner behind her, and she'd bet a hundred bucks that if she turned around right now, and looked back at them through the window, at least one pair of worried eyes - possible more - would meet directly with her gaze.

It was nausea, people! Not a heart attack! . . . although, Buffy mused, a heart attack probably wouldn't be a biggie, either. Cause, you know, the whole already-dead thing.

Anyway, the point was, she could handle this on her own. Cordelia was bad enough as a momma bear, but now it seemed she had two more willing participants in the Protect-Buffy club. Maybe they'd hold elections, Buffy thought sardonically, and everyone could get their own official position. Cordelia could be President, and Angel and Spike could duke it out for which one gets to be Vice President and which one gets to be the lowly janitor!

Don't get Buffy wrong - It was nice that they cared so much. It filled her with a warm, tingly feeling of goodness, actually. But she didn't need a babysitter, nor a protector. She wasn't a child, and she damn well wasn't defenseless. Yet, the sight of her standing outside alone was surely sending each one of them soaring to the heights of paranoia. As if it was tantamount to entering a war zone.

You know, kinda like the one they had just left. With the big, three-headed demon! Ring a bell, anyone?

Buffy had done fine there, and now they were worried about her because she was feeling sick? One day, someone had to teach these people about the strange concept called logic . . . Not her, of course, because Buffy admitted to herself that logic was a foreign word to her on the best of days. But at least she knew that nausea wasn't a panic-inspiring phenomena.

But try telling that to group back inside.

She heard the door open behind her, and then the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat. It was Angel. Don't ask her how she knew by that small vague sound, but she did. She briefly wondered how he was chosen out of the three for the task of checking up on her.

Buffy turned around, "Hey."

"Hey," He responded, eyes clouded with genuine concern. "You feelin' better?"

"Well, I'll be honest with you." Buffy answered, feigning a serious tone. "There's was a moment there where it was touch and go with the nausea. My life literally flashed before my eyes, and for some reason, there was a whole lotta cheese in it. That's not something Freudian, is it?"

He smirked. "Not that I know of."

She spared a quick glance behind him to see Spike and Cordelia still inside the diner. She nodded towards them to assure them of her well being, and after a quick acknowledgment back, they both turned around and sat down in one the diner booths.

"Cordelia's ordering enough food for a battalion." Angel commented, looking back at them.

"No, she isn't." Buffy clarified, "She ordering enough food for me."

"Your pregnancy cravings that bad?"

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, it's a piece of cake . . . A big ol' piece of chocolate cake. Smothered in delicious whipped cream and coconut flakes . . . Cordelia's getting me chocolate cake, right?"

Angel nodded, amused.

"Oh, that reminds me. I had a craving for a lobster!" Buffy exclaimed, "Can we get that here?"

He looked at her as if she was crazy, "Cake reminds you of lobster? You know, one of these days I'm going to find a friend who knows what the meaning of linear thinking is."

Buffy snorted in disbelief, "I'm a pregnant lady, buster. On some days when I'm hungry enough, I don't even know what the meaning of my own name is."

Angel looked curious. "Do you even know what the meaning of your name is?"

She paused, "Actually, no."

Anglel smiled, as if he'd been expecting that answer. "It's Hebrew. It means God's promise."

She must have looked surprised.

"I was curious one day," He clarified. "I had nothing planned for the day except brooding, so I thought . . ." He trailed off, and shrugged self-consciously.

"Oh," Buffy replied, surprised. "And here I always blamed Mom for it, citing experimentation with the seveties happenin' lifestyle as the reason . . . But God's promise? I kinda like that."

He smiled back, and Buffy was relieved to see there wasn't any of the awkwardness she'd expected to see in him. It was something about the fight earlier, she realized, the rush of the good clean slay that had a way of battering down any walls between them. It was surreal how easily she'd fallen into the pattern of fighting side by side with both him and Spike.

It felt right, though. It felt like they'd been fighting together all these years, instead of the truth they all knew. That each of these three - Buffy, Angel, and Spike - had tried to kill one another at some point in time. They'd been everything from mortal enemies to lovers, and perhaps that was why they knew how the others thought and fought. Fighting alongside Angel and Spike was surreal, but familiar.

Although, she'd never really done it with both at the same time . . . _wow, and that line suddenly sounded very wrong in her head. Damn Freud.   
_   
"What?" Angel asked, apparently catching a look on her face.

She smirked, and turned away so he couldn't see it. "Nothing. Just thinking about the fight. You and Spike worked well together."

He shrugged, "He has his moments. At least he didn't impale me with a sword this time."

And that was what multiplied the surreal factor tenfold.

She'd seen them interact. Angel and Spike. Every time she'd seen these two together in the past, animosity and hate were the big themes in the air. But that wasn't the deal here. What she saw had surprised her almost to the point of being speechless. Sitting across from them in the diner had been an experience almost more bizarre than fighting alongside them, because beneath the wisecracks and insults they traded, she recognized a bond between them. One that wasn't laced with violence or malice. One that wasn't forced upon them because of a blood oath.

They had been . . . relaxed around each other. They had been joking and insulting each other, without any of the real venom she had come to expect. They had become, as strange and outlandish as it sounds, friends. Friends that frequently butted heads, no doubt, but her experience with Cordelia had taught her the hidden beauty of that type of friendship. Angel and Spike had the same type, only with lots and lots more history.

Angel and Spike - friends.

Her world view was askew. Maybe she was wrong about that leprechaun thing, too?

He must have caught her gaze and seen something in her eyes that amused him, because he smiled. She remembered, once upon a time, how rare those smiles use to be. She'd seen more of those from Angel in the last twenty minutes than in all her experience back in highschool. Angelus use to smile, yeah, but not Angel. It was nice to see him smile again. She liked that. Liked it a little too much, probably.

"You never cease to amaze me, you know that?" He said.

Buffy was caught off guard with the unexpected compliment. "Say I didn't? Can you go into a detailed description for me?"

It was a second before she realized that her tone could be interpreted as flirting. Damn, how the hell did that happen?

"The fight," Angel said, "You were amazing. I'll admit, I was worried--"

"Didn't notice," Buffy cut in, dryly.

"But you were . . . pretty amazing."

"You said that already." Buffy noted, hoping he wouldn't see her flush. "You weren't that bad, either. That thing you did with the axe, with the twirly move and the somersault, that was pretty Olympic worthy."

"Silver medal, at its' best." Angel replied. "You got the gold, with that arrow shot you got off mid-flip. Songs will be sung of it, one day."

She shrugged humbly, trying not to be too pleased with herself and her advanced agility. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't appreciate some of the quarks of being mystically pregnant. There were moves she did now that even as a slayer she wouldn't have been able to pull off.

"Yeah, well. Everybody did well." She replied, "Cordelia included."

The thought of her best friend reminded her of the plan she'd come up with somewhere along the way. It included keeping up as much distance between herself and Angel as possible. She needed to stay aloof, and not get sucked into repeating her history with Angel again. For Cordelia's sake. And her own.

They both started fidgeting, seemingly at a loss for what to say next, and silence ensued.

That was one of the things about her and Angel. They never could make small talk. Truth was, that was actually one of the first differences she'd noticed between him and Angelus. (Well, besides that and him being evil, of course.) Angelus loved to talk. Sometimes, he would never shut up. But Angel? He was different. Maybe it was because Buffy and Angel had nothing to say to each other. Ever. Forever. Once they got beyond all the pleasantries and strained small talk, the conversation either trailed off into the ether or ended up going into territory filled with angst, drama, or declarations of undying love.

This time, it was silence. And both, despite Buffy's best effort to stop herself from venturing down this beaten path, still felt an undescribable heightening of senses. Their glances were more pronounced. Their silence always more intense than any other she knew. She knew Angel felt the same way, too. The silence wasn't uncomfortable - not in the strictest sense, anyway. Instead, it felt . . . it felt fitting, somehow. Like it was natural.

She knew it didn't make any sense to anyone else, but it did to her and Angel.

"You're stronger than I remember." He said awkwardly after a moment, perhaps just to break the silence. "Which is saying a lot."

"Pregnancy," She answered, plain enough.

He seemed to debate with himself about something, then decided to continue further. "You did some moves back there that were . . . impossible. I'm trying to think a better word, but I can't."

Buffy smirked, "Yeah, I'm actually thinking about changing my middle name to 'impossible'. You have no idea about the number of times I've used that cliche, and I figure one of these days I'm going to fib about that a little too much, and they'll know me in the future only as 'Buffy Impossible Summers.'"

"Does have a certain ring to it." Angel replied.

Buffy nodded, somberly. "Yeah, but Mom would be upset. She loved the name 'Anne.' "

Angel smiled, "Speaking of, have you thought of a name for the baby, yet?"

She sighed, "I don't know. I don't even know if it's a boy or a girl, but I've got a couple of ideas."

"Like what?"

She replied, "Logan or Cory, for a boy."

"Nice," He noted, pausing. Clarity soon set in. "Logan's Irish."

She smirked, "Yeah, I thought you'd like that."

He smiled, and looked away for a moment. When he looked back, she thought she picked up some forced levity in his gaze. "And what if it's a girl?"

She paused, "I don't really have many choices there."

"Well, what do you have?"

She took a deep breath, and smiled softly. "Joyce."

Angel paused, then looked at her with such sympathy and caring in his eyes. "I'd think she'd like that."

"I'd think she'd like that, too." Buffy agreed. "I could even call her my little Joy, as a nickname. And she would be . . . my Joy."

The thought made her smile wishfully for a second, but when she caught Angel's eyes, instead of the lightheartedness she expected to see reflected there, she swore she saw them filled with anguish instead. He looked at her as if she was speaking of someone's death, not someone's birth, and it troubled her.

"But you look disappointed about it." She commented.

"No. No." He replied, quickly. The somber look vanished quicker than a blink of an eye. "I was just thinking . . . I was just thinking that I hoped it was girl."

"Yeah? Cordelia's seems positive it's a boy."

"No," Angel replied, with a firmness. "There's just something about Summer's women that makes them special. If the world's lucky enough, it'll be a girl."

Buffy smiled softly, rubbing her shoulders for warmth in the cold wind, yet at the same time trying to quell the warm feeling rising up inside her. Angel always made her feel a special type of . . . special. Something to be cherished and loved. It made it damn near impossible for her to keep away from him, for Cordelia's sake. And her own. She just didn't want to repeat history over and over again. She'd been down this heavily treaded pathway before, and she knew it only ended at one destination. Heartache.

And at some point, there was a time where you just had to learn that some things were never meant to be. That as crappy as it sounded, love was sometimes not enough.

"You're cold." He realized, watching her shiver.

He quickly took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. A sense of deja-vu passed over her, and she smiled remembering another time he'd done that same exact gesture. That was years ago, though. She'd barely been in Sunnydale for a month at the time, and he'd barely been a functioning part of society.

"Admit it," Buffy teased, "You've got a closet full of leather jackets just so you can keep giving them away."

He feigned contemplation, "No . . . you're the only one I've ever given my jacket to."

"Good answer."

"I thought so," He replied, smile fading. He paused cautiously, then continued in a serious tone. "Buffy, I've gotta ask you something . . ."

Uh-oh. That didn't sound good. "Yeah?"

"I don't know how to ask it, though. So, I'm just going to come out and say it."

Oh God, Buffy thought, her stomach suddenly churning. He was going to ask about the kiss they'd shared. He was going to ask what it meant. Whether she still felt that way about him . . . or maybe he was going to say they couldn't let it happen again? That the kiss was a mistake and couldn't be repeated. She wasn't sure which option was worse, but she knew she didn't want to acknowledge either one right now.

He looked up, eyes measuring her. "I was just wondering why Angelus is still alive in your world."

The statement, seemingly coming out of nowhere from Angel, caught her off- guard.

"What?" She questioned.

He shifted, casting one glance back at the diner. Spike and Cordelia were still inside engaged in their conversation, seemingly paying no attention to them outside the window. He paused, then looked back at her with this understanding in his eyes that made her feel like he was starring right into the center of her being.

"I saw you fighting today. I saw your strength and skill. You could have taken me in a fight easily. Spike too, without breaking a sweat. And while you beating Spike into a bloody pulp gives me happy thoughts, I don't see how you could have faced off with Angelus and lost."

"I never had the chance to kill him." Buffy answered, slowly.

Bullshit. And Angel called her on it.

"You always had the chance." Angel replied, firmly. "And you were always better. I remember everything about my . . . Angelus's experience with Buffy, and if you went through anything similar to that at all, the only reason Angelus survived as long as he did, was because . . . because you couldn't make yourself kill him. You let him live."

It felt like an accusation, and she turned defensive at the drop of a hat.

"You think you know what happened? You think that just because Cordelia told you bits and pieces of our world, you know the whole story?"

"I know you." He answered, with a certainty she would have found faulty on many others.

"You know the Buffy from this world." Buffy countered, sharply. "Not me. And even if I was the same girl as her at one time, that girl died a long time ago. I'm what's left. And you don't know a damn thing about me."

"Buffy, I'm not accusing you of anything."

Buffy glared in disbelief.

He sighed, "I remember the last time. I remember what Angelus did to you, and I remember your hesitation. I understand why that happened. Believe me, I understand it all too well."

"It wasn't like the last time." Buffy replied, slowly.

"Then tell me, how was it different? Angelus is still alive."

She turned away, feeling frustrated and angry at Angel's words, his accusation cutting her deeply. But the truth was, the reason his words stung so much, was because they held so much truth. She had opportunities to kill him. She had the strength and skill to do it, too. But every time, she let him live.

"Buffy . . ."

"I couldn't do it, okay?" Buffy answered, sharply. "Is that what you want to hear? I couldn't kill him."

"I know." He replied, sympathetic. "But you did it before. Cordelia told me that you killed him - or the Angel of your world - back in highschool. When it came down to it, you did what you had to. It played out exactly the same way here. You did it once, you could have done it again--"

"I told you, it wasn't like before." Buffy interrupted, "Back in highschool, I hated Angelus."

Angel hesitated, surprised by that response. "And . . . and now what?"

She sighed, and couldn't meet his eyes. "And now I don't know what I feel . . . In highschool, I only ever loved you. I only cared about you. But now . . ."

Angel looked disturbed, "Now what, Buffy? Now what do you feel towards him?"

It was moment before she could answer, and then it was said so softly that only a person with vampire hearing would have been able to hear what she said. "I spent nearly two years with him, Angel . . . It complicates things."

Angel seemed flummoxed by the response, a stunned expression on his face . . .

--

"You still love her, don't you?"

Spike turned his head away from the diner windows, where the nauseating sight of Buffy and Angel talking outside could be seen, and glanced back towards Cordelia. The image still stayed fresh in his mind, however, and coupling that with the haunting words of the Oracle from earlier today, he found himself with a short attention span.

"What?" He asked irritated, vaguely registering her words.

She was sitting across from him in the corner booth, a single raised eyebrow clearly indicating her curiosity. She gave no credence to his irritated tone.

"Buffy," She clarified. "You still love her."

This time it was a statement instead of a question.

He paused, then realized there was no use in denying it. "Yeah. What of it?

She shrugged, "Nothing. It's just . . . I'm surprised. Not about you still loving her, I mean. But . . . that its Angel's out there talking to her, and you're . . . here. Now, even though you should feel exceptional gifted to be graced with my charming company--"

Spike snorted, disdainfully.

"--I have to ask, what's the hell is that about? I figured I'd have to bear witness to you spewing sonnets of your undying love to her."

"Sonnets of my undying love?" He questioned, incredulous.

"You were a poet in life, right?"

He shifted, surprised and even a little bit embarrassed. "What delusional sod gave you that idea?"

"That would be you." She answered, with a bright smile. "Remember, I knew the other you in my reality. He told me a few things in our time together."

He smirked, a tad ferally. "Our time together? Tell me something, pet, how well did you know the other me? Are we talking mere acquaintances or, how should I put this delicately, horizontal buddies?"

She rolled her eyes, "Neither, you dumb-ass. We were friends."

"Naked friends?" He teased.

She sighed, aggravated.

"Or more than naked friends?" He continued, pondering the implications. "Let me guess, had your heart set on me, right? Wedding dress picked out in your head, bride maids lined up, a little plastic vampire groom for the top of the three-tier cake? The whole bloody nine yards, am I right?"

"Oh yeah, absolutely. And the whole world was run by damn dirty apes, too." She gave him a dirty look, "C'mon, quit changing the subject. Why are you sitting back and letting Angel have all the Buffy time?"

"Ooohhh, I get it now." Spike realized, feigning offense. "You don't care about me. You're just jealous that Angel's out there talking with Buffy. Well, you can leave me out of whatever bloody trauma you're going through. I'm not letting you use me. Unless, of course, we're talking about my body. Which in that case, use away."

"I am not jealous!" She replied, indignant.

Spike glared in disbelief, "Save the acting for your auditions, luv. I can see right through you."

"Oh, really?" Cordelia scoffed. "I find that funny coming from a man who has the keen awareness of an ostrich in hiding!"

"What?" He asked, annoyed. "I'll have you know that my mind is as sharp as a steel trap. Things go in and WHAM - they bloody well never get out again."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, "I'll give you the 'steel trap' part, Spike. It's rusty and probably illegal in 37 states."

"Like so many of my old habits," He mused.

She heaved an annoyed sigh. "No wonder you miss so much. You're too busy giving yourself compliments to know if an anvil landed on your forehead."

"Exactly what have I missed that you haven't?" He questioned. "A bargain sale at the local Fashions-R-Us store?"

"Pul-lease." Cordelia replied, "I never buy anything that has the word 'bargain' in it. That's like committing fashion suicide."

Spike starred at her, "Too many insults. I can't bloody choose."

"Oh, bring it on, peroxide boy." Cordelia goaded, "In a war of words, I'll kick your ass and you know it."

"You would win?" Spike asked, feigning insult. "Oh, bloody hell, that is amusing. Where would you get a delusional idea like that? Oh wait, let me guess. Your reality was oxygen-deprived, wasn't it?"

"I'm sorry. I only speak English, not Moron, therefore I wasn't paying attention to a single word you just said." Cordelia replied, bitingly. "Now can we get back on topic here?"

"What topic?"

"I was talking about Angel."

"You were? In what sodding reality was this? All I ruddy heard for the last two minutes is insults."

Cordelia sighed, exasperated. "Angel's been giving me vague answers and half clarifications a lot lately. I've been getting nothing but that from him for the past two days. It's like Twenty Questions with him lately. You had to have noticed something."

He sighed, annoyed. "What the bloody hell are you going on about?"

"Angel's hiding something." Cordelia declared, in a serious tone.

"Ohh, a Nancy Drew mystery, if I ever heard one." Spike replied. "If you're talking about that stash of _Playboys_ under his bed, give the poor man a break. He's needs to get his ya-yas somewhere with that sodding curse in place."

His face contorted in disgust, "Not that, you brain-bleached freak boy. I was talking about - Wait, does he actually have _Playboys_ under his bed?"

Spike smirked, but didn't answer.

Her shoulders slumped in aggravation. "Never mind, forget I ever said anything. Don't know why I even brought up this subject anyway, especially with you."

Spike shrugged. "If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't really paying attention to what you were saying to begin with."

She glared. "Why do you feel the need to piss off every person you come in contact with?"

"Everybody needs a hobby?" Spike answered, playfully.

She glared fiercer in response.

"Oh, lighten up, pet. You're making Happy Hour bitterly ironic. What's got your knickers in a twists, anyway?"

She sighed, "Like you care."

"As a matter of fact, I don't. But I'm bored, and this conversation - as inane and pointless as it's bound to be - is more titillating than watching Buffy and Angel play footsie outside the window. So . . ."

"I'm your consolation prize?" Cordelia asked, annoyed. "You really know how to woo a girl, don't you?"

He grinned, ferally. "Never had any complaints before. Besides, if I was really wooing you, you'd be on your back by now."

"If by that, you mean I would have passed out in horror, yes." Cordelia replied, without missing a beat. "You're absolutely right."

"Oh, I think they call that 'being in denial.' "

"Oh, I think they call that 'having taste.' " Cordelia responded. "Now, do you promise to actually listen to me and what I have to say, or are we going to continue this little quip-fest for the entire day."

He thought about it for a second, and then made a cross over his heart, smiling.

She rolled her eyes, "I can't believe I'm telling you this, but . . . I've noticed stuff about Angel lately--"

"Yeah, I gathered that much already." Spike cut in, amused.

"Annoying, much?" Cordelia asked, "Whatever you're problem is, keep it in check for five minutes. I'm serious, I'm really worried about him. He's not acting like himself."

"What? He's showing a personality?"

She glared. "He's not talking to me. He's been evasive with a lot of answers. He broods like he's never brooded before, especially around Buffy's bed while she was sleeping--"

Spike snorted.

She sighed, "Okay, that's a bad example of strange behavior for Angel, but he's still been acting strange! He never answers a question fully, you notice that? I know ten dozen different things about Wolfram and Hart's clientele, but I know only one or two pieces of everything that's happened in the last couple of years. He's vague about his own life. He's vague about my double's life. He's vague about how he killed off Jasmine, the maggoty face goddess!"

"So?"

"So, he's never vague about battle victories! But I haven't been able to get two words pried from him about that. Isn't that a little weird?"

"Well, I suppose. I can see why you're so upset."

"You can?" She asked, hopefully.

"Oh, yes. He doesn't want to have a Hallmark moment with you about demons and maggots." Spike dead-panned. "That's an offense surely punishable by death, I'd say."

She replied, firmly. "I don't care how it sounds, but I know I'm right. He's hiding something big."

"Women." He muttered, aggravated. "Alright, to play the fun game of devil's advocate, say you're right--"

"I am." She cut in.

"--What is he hiding?"

"I don't know, peroxide boy, because he's hiding it!" She answered, sharply. "God, you're slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter."

"Stop comparing me to animals, pet. It's bloody annoying." Spike responded, although he silently admitted to himself that she had some pretty interesting insults.

"Then you stop calling me 'pet,' 'luv,' and/or bint. I have a name, dammit. Use it!"

"But snookums--"

"Spike, I swear to God!"

He smiled, easily. "I can think of so many more appropriate names to call you, luv. Some of them are very colorful, I assure you."

"I can think of a few colorful names for you, too." She threatened.

"Oh, feisty." He remarked, "I like that in a women."

She ignored him, with effort, and got back on topic. "You haven't noticed anything strange about Angel lately? Like he's hiding something?" She inquired, "I would have asked Buffy about this, but she's been in asleep for the last two days. I thought, perhaps wrongly now, that you'd be more of a help."

He shrugged, "I don't know what to tell you. Peaches is Peaches. Nothing strange about him . . ."

Except . . .

Angel was kinda acting off.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more of what Cordelia was saying made sense to him. What did he know about the AI's last couple of years in LA? Practically nothing. And even allowing for the fact that him and Angel weren't drinking buddies that swapped stories over beer, he'd still spent nearly six months with him. He should have heard something. A story or two. A little bit of bragging, at least. But nothing.

He shrugged, casually again. "Whatever. Peaches wants privacy, then let him have it."

"What if he needs our help?" She demanded.

"What makes you think he needs our help?"

He turned to look out the window and spied Angel's jacket drapped over Buffy's shoulders. Bloody nauseating, the sight was.

"It looks like he's doing just dandy to me." He muttered, annoyed.

He turned back and caught sight of Cordelia's face. There was a distinct expression of hurt that flickered across her face at the sight of Angel and Buffy together, but it was there and gone quicker than an eye flutter. The image outside must have hurt her as much as it did him. And that realization, for some reason, just managed to annoy him even further.

"Why do you bother with him, luv?" He questioned, suddenly curious. "You're too good for Angel, you have to know that."

"If you think that I'm still hung up on him, Spike, I'm not." She replied, sparring him a glance. "Maybe at one time, I love - had feelings for him. But that's passed. I'm over him. I'm done. I've crossed that bridge and now it's burnt to crisp little piece of toast."

"Keep telling yourself that." Spike responded, condescendingly. "But let me tell you 'bout some wisdom I've gained."

"Wisdom?" Cordelia repeated, in a tone.

Girl used sarcasm so much, he looked down right serious in comparison.

"Love?" He said, ignoring her for the moment. "Real love? It isn't something you get over. No matter how long, you'll always be under its thrall. Take me for example, I've loved three women in my life. Every single one, in my own way, I still love. Couldn't stop loving 'em even if I was dust in the wind."

That, wonders of all wonders, stopped her for a moment in contemplation.

"Three?" Cordelia questioned, slightly surprised. "I know about Drusilla and Buffy. But who's the third?"

"The first," he corrected, briskly. "A girl by the name of Cecilia. She was back in my still living days. Had the privilege of tearing out my still beating heart and stomping it on the floor with her pretty little 17th centuries shoes. Drove me strait into Drusilla's arms, in fact. So I guess it all bloody well worked out in the end, didn't it?"

"She drove you to death and it all worked out?" Cordelia repeated, cynically. "I don't get that. And I don't get how you can say you still love her, if she had a gay ol' time playing with your broken heart."

"Because that's love." He answered. "If it came down to her life or mine, even today, I would give mine up without hesitation. I'd bloody die a thousand times to protect her."

"Of course, that's a mute point because she's already dead."

"Can't argue with that logic," Spike agreed, shrugging. "But it's the bloody sentiment that counts. I would die for her. And that goes a ruddy hundred times more for Druscilla. Nothing, except for some chit I loved more, would make me turn my back on them."

The words hit a chord with them, and suddenly he was flashing back to the Oracle again.

'_Between old love and new. Between who will live and who will die. You will decide.'_

Bloody, sodding, no good Oracle.

"Spike, no offense," Cordelia replied, "But right now you sound so melodramatic, I'm waiting for the violins to start playing."

He glared at her. "Make all the jokes you want, but you know I'm right. You give a little bit of yourself away every time you fall in love. And each time, you run the risk of getting hurt. Getting hurt so bad you can't breath. Can't move because of the pain. But you do, eventually. But that bloody piece? It's gone. You never get it back again. Ever."

She shook her head in denial, rolling her eyes. "If you keep giving bits of yourself away, Spike, then what's left for yourself?"

"Nothing." He answered, somberly. "That's the whole point of love, luv. It's about being selfless. You may walk around less than a whole person for a while, less than a whole being, but if you get lucky, real lucky, and you get that love requited . . . then you're complete. You're so sodding whole, you're bursting at the seams."

She didn't have a retort for that, and in a unique experience for the both of them, they allowed silence to settle. He noted Cordelia's new line of sight connected directly with the window behind him, where the 'two little love birds' were standing. It took all his effort to force himself not to turn around and look with her. There was only so much masochism he could take, after all. The sight of Buffy and Angel talking together, no matter how seemingly innocuously, sent an all too familiar feeling of inadequacy coursing through him.

To Buffy, he was seemingly always second best, nothing more than a conciliation prize. He hated feeling that way. Hated it more than burning sunlight and searing holy water. Hated it because even though he know he was better than that, a prime catch some would say, a part of him always wondered if it was all he deserved. That despite all he'd done and all he'd proven, he still managed to fail expectations. And low expectations, at that.

He saw her slightly questioning gaze after a moment, and smiled. "Poet, remember?"

"Right," Cordelia responded, a smile growing on her lips. "I have to say, I didn't believe it fully before. You, a poet. But I won't question it again."

"Didn't believe it before?"

"Truthfully, hell no." Cordelia replied, adamantly. "Before this, I kept thinking that the only poetry you could do is something as lame as: 'Roses are red, violets are blue, I like spaghetti, now let's go screw.' "

He smirked despite himself. He liked this Cordelia more and more. Not just a pretty face, but a spunky personality that was more dangerous than stakes. Not a lot of women could pull off that type of spunk, at least not without being annoying as hell anyway, but she managed to walk that fine line. And walk it with style.

Too bad she was another Angel groupie.

"Is it that obvious?" She asked, after a moment.

"What?"

"That I still love him?"

He paused, and knew to tread lightly. He was dealing with matters of the heart now, and Spike had never been the type to treat that trivially. Cordelia looked back at him, a rare moment of vulnerability surfacing. He could build her up right now, if he wanted. Tell her that he saw that she loved Angel, clear as day. Tell her that he saw that Angel loved her right back. He could also tear her down, if he wanted. Tell her that the type of love Angel had for her wasn't the type she wanted. Tell her that the love she was seeking wasn't going to be returned from him.

Tell her everything he never wanted to hear himself, but had been forced to.

After a moment's contemplation, he answered as truthfully as he could. "When I see you guys around each other, you . . . you remind me of me and Buffy."

She paused, "I don't know what that really means. Is that good or bad?"

He smiled. "Don't know, myself."

She glared, "You really put the "fun" in dysfunctional, you know that?"

"Tell me about it." Spike replied, looking at her seriously. "Or better yet, tell him, luv."

"What?"

He shifted in his seat, "If you love him . . . If you love him, _Cordelia_, tell him." Spike replied, using her name instead of one of his special nicknames. "Don't wait. Do it tonight, in fact. Quit mopping about after him, and admit to yourself and him that you're in love with him. To ballocks with any hesitation, no matter what it's name. Forget about Buffy. Forget about your reality. Forget about everything except how you feel. _And tell him_."

He'd never seen Cordelia's face fill with so much undiluted fear and apprehensive that quickly before. Not even when faced with life and death situations.

"Tonight?" She repeated, questioningly.

"You got other plans?"

"Well, actually I was planning on washing my hair--"

"Tonight." He affirmed, "Life's too short, luv."

"I find that funny coming from a guy who's a couple centuries old."

"Just means by comparison, you should have bloody well done this yesterday, then."

She didn't answer, instead the noisy melody of her phone rang out. When she finally answered the damn thing, it turned out that Wesley was on the other end, telling them about a bunch of kids that had stopped by Wolfram and Hart. The conversation died at that point. Cordelia didn't bring it up again, and Spike was glad for it. He said everything he needed to, and much more. He just hoped he got through to her.

Spike, himself, had to burn up in ashes and dust before he learned the hard lesson of losing love. He just hoped Cordelia was a quicker learner than him.

_The love you seek will not be returned._

Bloody Oracle.

"C'mon," Cordelia said, motioning him over. "Foods ready."

They walked over to the cashier's desk and she started to grab the food while Spike ended up paying. After an obscene amount of money was paid, which was delivered with an equally obscene amount of profanity, he met up with Cordelia again. He eyed the numerous bags of the diner's to-go food that Cordelia was handing him, and looked up.

"This is all for Buffy?" He questioned, wearily. "Bloody hell."

Cordelia nodded, somberly. "Yeah. I have the firm belief that somewhere inside of Buffy, a skinny woman is screaming to get out . . . Of course, as Buffy likes to say, she can usually shut the bitch up with some ice cream."

Spike smirked, and along with Cordelia walked out of the diner. Just before he spotted Angel and Buffy around the corner, he had the fleeting thought that he couldn't deny the fact that there were worse ways to spend an evening than with the company of somebody like Cordelia. She had a wit that was refreshing, even if a tad annoying at times.

It oddly reminded him of somebody, but he couldn't for the unlife of him pinpoint who.

"C'mon, foods ready." Cordelia announced brightly, apparently missing the somber expressions on both Buffy and Angel's face. "Oh, and Wesley called."

Angel forced himself to be casual, and did it rather poorly in Spike's opinion. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Cordelia replied, "And you still don't know how to work your voicemail, do you?"

Angel shrugged, slightly abashed.

"What did Wes want?" Angel asked.

Cordelia turned to Buffy, "You remember the two kids in the library?"

"Yeah." Buffy answered.

"They're over at Wolfram and Hart right now." Cordelia replied.

Buffy paused, surprised. "Wesley sure they're the same kids?"

Cordelia nodded.

"Who are these kids?" Angel asked, confused.

"They're some people we saved in the library," Cordelia answered, "I think I may have let it slip that I worked at Wolfram and Hart."

Spike snorted, "You've been here two days, and done nothing but bloody shop. What job is this?"

"Seer." Cordelia answered, briskly. "What's yours?"

"Champion," He answered, mocking her in the same tone.

Buffy interrupted, getting both their attention. "Ah, Cordelia? Did Wesley happen to mention why they were there?"

"Apparently, they wanted to say thanks." Cordelia said, shrugging. "They've been waiting for a while."

"Oh . . . Did he happen to catch their names?" Buffy asked. "I didn't get it the last time, what with all the demons and the explosions everywhere."

"Yeah." Cordelia answered. "It was Tracy and um . . . what was it? Oh yeah, Connor."

Buffy nodded, while Angel seemed to do a double take.

"Did you say . . . did you say Connor?" Angel asked, nervously.

-


	11. D'oh!

1A/N

Okay people, I have bad news. I did something really stupid last weekend. While skiing in Colorado, I did what in my opinion was a beautifully executed jump . . . unfortunately, I have to work on my landing. People, sweet dear people who have been so kind to me and reviewed with such thoughtful words, I did something that is no doubt going to upset a lot of you. I broke my arm.

Yes, you read right. I broke my freakin' arm. For those of you quick enough to connect the dots, you realize the problem. I, the writer, broke my arm. It's going to be in a cast for a couple of months, and presently I am typing with only one hand. So far, I've been typing for about 20 minutes now.

Do you see my problem?

It's taking forever to write anything!

There's no way, barring a telepathic computer that can read my thoughts and write stuff down for me, that I will be able to continue writing anything for a while. Try typing with one hand, it's an experience that will give you new-found respect for your appendages.

So, this story is unfortunately going to go on hiatus. I'm so sorry. I can't say that enough. I hate when I'm reading a WIP story and the author drops off the face of the planet, leaving me hanging clueless and frustrated, but it seems, for a couple of months, I'm going to subject you to that same torture. I really am sorry, people! Don't hate me for my stupidity. Instead, blame gravity. Stupid gravity.

I'll try to start up as soon as I can, but don't expect anything until, at the earliest, mid-November. I'll leave you good and kind people to silently seethe in anger now. Feel free to subject me to mockery and humiliation if you wish, cause god knows I haven't gotten enough of that from my families and friends lately.

I hope some of you will stick by me until I return.

Goodbye, and enjoy your arms, people. They're important.

-

Here's a quick summery of what's happened so far for those that have forgotten, cause I know it's been an eternity since my last update.

_Chapter one_: We established that doubles of Buffy and Cordelia from an alternate reality have traveled to Angelverse. Buffy is a vampire impregnated with Angelus's child. (The child's soul has major influence over her.) Cordelia is . . . well, she's Cordelia. Pretty much the same ol', same ol'. Buffy and Cordelia are, against all logic, now close friends who have traveled to this universe seeking sanctuary from their devastated reality.

_Chapter two_: Buffy and Cordelia arrive at an abandoned Hyperion - yadda, yadda, yadda. A surveillance camera hooked up at Wolfram and Hart spots them, and an overambitious group of Wolfram and Hart employees decide they can handle these 'obvious imposters' themselves.

_Chapter three_: Wolfram and Hart employees attack, and Buffy hands their asses back to them. Buffy and Cordelia flee the Hyperion afterwards. Consequently, Wesley and Angel find out about the botched Wolfram and Hart plan and presume that Buffy and Cordelia are some sort of demon imposters. Meanwhile, Buffy and Cordelia set out to find information about Angel and Spike at a seedy demon bar. The end results: misunderstandings galore! Everybody thinks everybody else is evil!

_Chapter four_: After separating with Buffy, Cordelia runs into Spike. After some odd poking and biting, Spike finally believes that Cordelia is from an alternate reality and not evil. At the same time, the AI gang have found DNA evidence that proves Cordelia is Cordelia and not an imposter, and Buffy's a pregnant vampire! Suffice it to say, they're confused about what's going on.

_Chapter five_: Spike brings Cordelia into Wolfram and Hart and she has a reunion with everybody.

_Chapter six_: Fearing the worst after learning that Cordelia is in Wolfram and Hart's custody, Buffy prepares to storm the castle and rescue her. Meanwhile, Cordelia updates everybody on Buffy's pregnancy and the whole alternate reality situation. Then, Buffy breaks into Wolfram and Hart, meets up with (and nearly stakes) Harmony. But when Angel intervenes and saves Harmony's life, he ends up engaging Buffy - in kissing.

_Chapter seven_: Buffy meets up with everybody (and feels a whole lot of guilt), learns Wolfram and Hart isn't evil, and promptly faints due to exhaustion. (Yes, I know, not one of my greatest ideas, but I was sick and tired of the shocks at that point and decided - to hell with it, I'm tired of this. She must be, too:)

_Chapter Eight_: IF YOU'RE GOING TO REREAD ANY CHAPTERS, REREAD THIS ONE!! I CAN'T SUMMERIZE EVERYTHING, BECAUSE TOO MANY IMPORTANT THINGS ARE SAID AND DONE! YOU DON'T WANT TO FORGET THIS STUFF! Buffy wakes up after two days of a coma-like sleep, and Cordelia fills her in on a lot of details regarding this reality. She ends up getting a vision that sends them off to the UCLA library to stop some demons. Meanwhile, Spike visits the Oracles, who tells him a whole lot of important and cryptic stuff regarding Buffy and her miracle child. Simultaneously, Angel goes to the White Room to talk with the Conduit (in the form of Darla). He too learns a whole lot of depressing stuff about Buffy and her baby, including the fact that she's destined to suffer the same fate as Darla.

_Chapter Nine_: Buffy and Cordelia fight demons at the UCLA library, saving two college students along the way. But when a big three-headed demon arises, it takes Buffy, Angel, and Spike collaboratively to save the day! . . . Back at Wolfram and Hart, Wesley and Gunn discuss their concerns and reservations about Buffy, finding the fragile influence of her baby's soul over the vampire as disconcerting. And on a completely separate issue, they acknowledge Cordelia's odd emotional distance from them and resolve to do something about it. Then, they're oddly interrupted as the two college students (from earlier in the day at the UCLA library) make a surprise visit to say thank you. The big shocker is - one of them is Connor!

_Chapter ten_: Buffy and Angel talk outside a diner, while Spike and Cordelia talk inside the diner. Nothing earth-shattering is revealed, but it's interesting conversation.


	12. Once Upon a Time

_TO REFRESH YOUR MEMORY AND READ A SUMMERY OF ALL PREVIOUS CHAPTERS, GO TO CHAPTER ELEVEN!_

A/N

Hello everybody, I have two functional arms again! Isn't that fantastic?

Thanks for everybody's well wishes. You guys helped me endure my friends and family's teasing, because if you haven't noticed, I tend to enjoy teasing and insulting the hell out of people. It's my way of showing love, but unfortunately my friends and family don't always see it that way. And well, after my accident, they found the perfect opportunity to pay me back . . . And I have to say, I don't like the taste of my own medicine. The words 'accident-prone' were used far too often these last couple of months for my liking.

Anyway, just like I promised, mid-November means an update. This chapter is extra long and has a nice kicker of an ending that I think many of you will like. Review to tell me what you think!

Note: I've used my creative license to change some canon things, especially in regards to Connor. So, if you read stuff that isn't in line with what we saw on the show, I did that on purpose!

And as stated above, if you want to refresh your memory of what's happened so far in this story, go to the end of chapter eleven for a chapter-by-chapter summery.

Onto the show . . .

-

Connor Reilly would be the first to admit it, he was nothing special.

City kids like him were a dime a dozen. He was born and raised in a city of millions. His family was average, too - two annoying little sisters and (while not as average as it used to be) two loving, happily married parents. Anything that could be considered beyond the average was always in the subtle things.

He did well in school - good enough, in fact, to get a full paid scholarship to one of the most prestigious colleges in California - UCLA. He had a pretty girlfriend that he knew was way out of his league, and even though Tracy had been his sweetie ever since high school, she still managed to get his heart speeding simply by sitting next to him. He was pretty descent at archery, track, and fencing. He liked kung fu movies, science fiction books, and sports. And the kicker was, as a true monument to his averageness, he was probably going to end up being a lawyer just like his dad.

Overall, there wasn't anything exceptional about his life. Some would even call him 'boring' because he didn't make it a tradition every weekend, like some of his classmates, to get wasted by guzzling 40oz of beer at once through a beer bong. He was considered a genuine good guy - you know, the type that girls always complained never existed, but in actuality just overlooked. Tracy being the exception, of course.

He was just plain ol' normal. Sometimes to the point where Connor was annoyed with himself. Because in his hearts of hearts, the place where he wouldn't even let Tracy see, he always dreamed of something more in life. Something big. He knew there were more important things than growing up to get a job, get married, have kids, and die. That somewhere out there, in the big unknown world, was something that wasn't average and boring. Something that was in essence unbelievable and unforgettable.

Something that had his name on it.

Which was why he knew, sitting in Wesley's office at Wolfram and Hart, he could feel that dream of his suddenly taking form. Especially when Lorne, the green demon with the horns and the shockingly bright red suit, smiled at him. Connor smiled back, easily. Right now, in front of him, was a real life demon. Drinking a Sea Breeze.

My life just turned into a science fiction show, Connor thought numbly, and it strangely feels like home.

". . . The Nyazian Scrolls are one of the few leads I haven't been able to investigate, yet." Wesley said, sighing in frustration. "I've tried several of the firm's contacts, but getting hold of them has proven rather difficult. It's almost like someone is purposely trying to prevent me from getting them."

"The Nyazian Scrolls?" Lorne repeated, "I've heard of these babies. Big on prophecies. Big on interpretation. Small on detail."

"Right now I'd take vague prophecies over nothing." Wesley replied. "Besides, a pregnant vampire has to have some forewarning. I'm hoping there might be some answers about Buffy and her child."

"Careful what you wish for, Wes," Gunn warned. "Cosmic biggie like a mystical pregnancy . . . you're going into murky waters. And any prophecies written about them? All it'll do is add man- eating sharks to that equation."

"I'm well aware of the dangers, Gunn," Wesley replied. "Loopholes. Veiled implications. Ambiguity. Conflicting sources. There are many pitfalls in a prophecy, but I still think the end result is worth it. We need answers."

'Prophecies?' Tracy mouthed to Connor, looking incredulous.

He just shrugged in response to his girlfriend's bewilderment, sharing the same sense of puzzlement. He didn't know how, but somehow he and Tracy ended up sitting in on a conversation that was, in more the one way, unbelievable. The close-knit group in front of them barely acknowledged their presence, however, moving about and discussing things that Connor found both fantastic and otherworldly. Things like demons and prophecies. Things that the group around him seemed to deal with as routine and even mundane. Things, also, that he was sure they would have not said in front of him, if they realized what they were doing.

And Connor had to admit, that with this whole new world suddenly opening up at his feet, he desperately wanted to listen. So, he made like an inanimate object and blended into the background. He could see Tracy next to him also eagerly soaking up everything around them, and the two together probably keenly resembled eager kids who finally got to sit at the grown- ups table.

"The Scrolls are a place to start," Wesley continued. "I've already started a search through several other Prophecies and Omens. There has to be something written somewhere about this baby. I have a feeling, however, that whatever I'm looking for is going to be in a priceless artifact. And you don't get more priceless than a Nyazian Scroll."

Connor listened quietly as Wesley and Gunn continued to talk about prophecies, but his eyes kept shifting back to Lorne on their own account. Connor briefly wondered why he didn't feel the slightest bit afraid of the odd looking demon. His instincts, usually spot on with people, instead told him that the demon in front of him was probably as harmless as a fly.

"Stop staring," Tracy chided, whispering.

"I can't help it," Connor replied.

"Well, you better," She whispered, harshly. "You don't want him to use his death-ray eyes on you, do you?"

"He doesn't have death-ray eyes," Connor rebuked, rolling his eyes. Then, he paused. "Does he?

"Do you honestly want to find out?" she questioned, dryly.

The doors opened, and he smiled shyly as Fred and Harmony reentered the room. The two women, both incredible hotties in Connor's opinion, had been really nice to him so far. He'd always had a thing for older women, but these two rated much higher than the average in that regard. He quickly glanced over at Tracy, and felt a swell of guilt overcome him. God, he really was such a guy sometimes, wasn't he?

"What'd we miss?" Fred asked Connor, seeing Gunn and Wesley still debating over the Nyazian Scrolls, whatever they were.

Tracy shrugged, "I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. But somehow, I have the overwhelming certainty that someday I'll be describing whatever this is to a psychiatrist."

Fred smiled, "I've had those days. You just have to sit back and take it one moment at a time. It makes everything as easy as pie . . . or as I like to say, as easy as 3.14159265358979."

Connor and Tracy stared at her in bewilderment.

Fred smiled, abashed. "I'm scaring you, aren't I?"

"Oh, no more than anything else we've experienced today," Connor answered, lightly. "Really, fear is becoming our natural disposition."

Tracy shook her head and sighed. "None of this makes any sense."

"Fred usually doesn't," Harmony replied, misunderstanding.

"No, not that," Tracy responded, becoming agitated. "I'm talking about this . . . this bleeping law firm. This bleeping discussion about bleephole demons and prophecies. This whole mother- bleeping day! It's not making any tiny bit of bleeping sense! . . . Pardon my French, if you will."

"Well bleeping said," Connor remarked, slightly awed by his girlfriend.

Harmony seem to sympathize with her, "Sense? Common sense is what tells you the Earth is flat. You just have to accept the world as it is, not as how you expect it to be."

Fred looked over at her, surprised. "That's very deep, Harmony. . . Surprisingly deep, from you."

Harmony beamed, "I've been complimented on it once or twice. In fact, one time I was called so deep, I was practically an abyss."

Connor and Tracy slowly traded looks.

". . . So the Templates didn't work?" Gunn questioned audibly, attracting their attention from the corner of the room. "That's surprising. If the firm had possession of the Nyazian Scrolls at one time, like the records indicate, then it should be in our archives."

"And therefore be on the Templates," Wesley agreed, "but I can't get to them."

"You're not getting into the firm's archives?" Gunn repeated, sounding suddenly very suspicious. "That isn't right. You're the Head of Special Projects Division. You should have access to everything the firm has to offer. Unless, of course . . ."

"Unless what?" Fred questioned, from the side of the room.

Gunn looked over, "Unless somebody higher up on the Chain of Command put the Nyazian Scrolls under restriction."

Okay, that's it. Curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Uh, sorry," Connor said, drawing the attention of everybody in the room, especially Wesley. "I know we're just suppose to sit here and blend in with the furniture and everything, but something isn't making sense. Why do you need a prophecy about a baby?"

"Not just any baby," Harmony answered, cutting in before anyone else could answer. "Buffy's baby. She's extra freaky that way. Can't do anything normal. She dies, there's a prophecy. She gives birth, there's a prophecy. She gets a new hairstyle that's two seasons out of fashion and horribly the wrong shade of blonde - surprise! - there's gonna be a prophecy written somewhere."

Connor exchanged glances with Tracy, confused.

"Vampires don't have kids," Gunn informed.

That stopped him for a moment, and he felt a strange little flutter course through his body.

"The pregnant blonde today, in the library, was a vampire?" Tracy questioned, paling.

"Yep." Lorne answered, with a causal shrug. "Pointy teeth. Blood cravings. Allergic to tans. The whole kit'n'caboodle."

"A vampire?" Tracy repeated, incredulous. "They're . . . they're real?"

Lorne smiled, "As real as I am, sugar bun."

Wow, Connor thought stunned. He met a vampire. A pregnant vampire. How insane was that?

Fred continued, "Oh, but don't worry. She's a good vampire. Admittedly, they're not many of those out there - in fact, we got the world's share of the only good ones available, but uh - she's one of the good ones."

"The standard issue vampires are usually pretty nasty," Gunn added, "But stick close to us and we'll show you a few around here that aren't so bad."

Harmony looked up, hopeful."Really?" she asked, "Am I on that list?"

Connor had the distinct impression that the group wasn't quite sure how to handle that question, but Fred eventually came up with a response.

"Uh, of course!" Fred comforted, high-pitched. "You're definitely on that list. Right, guys?"

Gunn coughed, gruffly.

Lorne cleared his throat.

And Wesley, under Fred's intense scrutiny, awkwardly agreed. "Oh, uh, of course. Of the vampires I know . . . you're in the Top Five, at least."

Harmony grinned, apparently pleased with the comment, while Tracy scrutinized her. "You're a vampire?"

Harmony turned to look at her, and then suddenly without any preamble or forewarning, her face distorted into something that had both Connor and Tracy recoiling in surprise. Her forehead turned bumpy, her eyes a sickly shade of yellow, and her teeth transformed into fangs.

"See?" she grinned.

Connor stared at the face, almost hypnotized, while Tracy paled another two shades.

"You know, this should be very disturbing," Connor began, "but I can't get past the 'cool' part."

He heard Tracy heave an annoyed sigh beside him, and stifled a smile. He knew what she was thinking, and Connor had to admit, that there was some justification behind her exasperation. Most people would learn about vampires and feel frightened. But Connor had to say, he felt no such thing. In fact, he felt the exact opposite. Instead of fear, he felt awe. Instead of confusion, he felt a certain clarity. Instead of shock, there was an understanding that was resounding in his bones.

This just made sense. Perfect sense.

Fred smiled, "We've got four vampires, three humans, and two demons-slash-half demons working here in the upper division. And among the rest, over 65 of our employee population comes from a demonic background. We like to think of ourselves as an equal opportunity firm that spots potential in everything and every one."

"That, and this firm was formerly evil," Gunn added. "The Satan worshipers came with the package."

Tracy nodded, nonplused. "I figured. You're a law firm, and all."

"Okay," Connor responded, growing slightly bewildered for a moment. "So, you guys are searching for these scrolls because Buffy's a vampire. And she's pregnant. Which I'm guessing isn't normal, hence the special prophecies?"

"The term 'special prophecies' is a bit redundant." Wesely rebutted, looking directly at Connor. "But yes, you're right. Vampires don't usually get pregnant. It's previously been impossible."

"Huh," Connor replied.

Lorne nodded, "I've heard of mystical pregnancies before, but nothing with a vampire. Werewolf babies, yes. Lorek demons that are anatomically incapable of sex, yes, they somehow became pregnant. In fact, you're more likely to see Wesley and Gunn here pregnant than a vampire. It's that odd."

Both men seemed equally frightened by the last example, but Connor paid it little attention.

Vampires were real. And they - only on special occasions - gave birth. Yesterday, he would have laughed outright at someone who said that, but today . . . after what he saw in the library, how could he not believe it? Demons were real. The two women in the library and these people here were conceivably real life heros. The stuff of fairy-tales and nightmares were proven flesh and bone right before his own eyes.

A part of him, despite never having a clue about all this going on around him, wanted to jump up and shout 'I knew it!' at the top of his lungs. He had no idea where that inspiration was coming from.

"Right," Tracy began, confused. "Okay, so this kid. This son of two vampires, he's going to be good? I mean, not like an uber-vampire or something?"

The group in front of him exchanged nervous glances, but any answer forthcoming was cut short when the office doors opened. Connor turned around to meet with the surprisingly direct gaze of the man standing in the doorway. He looked for a moment to be as frozen as a statue, an indiscernible expression appearing on his face, but the moment past quickly and Connor wondered if he'd been imagining the intense gaze and emotion he'd seen flicker there for a second.

"Angel," Fred responded, surprised. "Hey. Where's everybody else?"

Angel? What kind of girly name was that?

Angel blinked, and cleared his throat. He looked over at Fred. "Uh . . . They'll be here any second. They took the other car."

Angel's eyes almost automatically refocused on Connor again.

"Oh, uh. Angel," Wesley began, "this is Connor and Tracy. They're the kids that--"

"I know," He responded, with a certainty in his voice that seemed a bit out of place.

Wesley raised an eyebrow at the tone.

"I-I mean . . ." Angel amended, immediately, "Cordelia told me. She said you called her."

"Oh," Wesley nodded, appeased. "Anyway, kids, this is Angel. The CEO of Wolfram and Hart. Angel, this is Tracy Adams . . ."

Tracy waved hello.

". . . And Connor Reilly," Wesley finished.

Connor stepped forward, and realized with a self-conscious start that the man was very broad- shouldered and well built. They were almost the same height, yet Connor couldn't help but feel dwarfed by the man's presence.

Angel smiled, and held out his hand. "Hello, Connor."

Connor grasped his hand in a firm but friendly handshake. There was a brief moment that spanned perhaps only a second, where something about Angel, something in his stance or expression, seemed to send a vague bell ringing in Connor's head somewhere. A bell that was supposed to mean something to him, but Connor had no idea what it was.

"So," Connor said, mentally shaking off the feeling. "I hear you're a vampire?"

Angel hesitated, like he was self-conscious about the fact. "Yeah."

Connor grinned, a little awed. "That is sooo cool."

He didn't care how dorkish that sounded, because as he watched, Angel slowly broke out in a grin that out-shined his own. There was an odd hint of relief in it, too.

"You think?"

"Trust me, I'm a teenager. We're experts on cool," Connor answered, lightly.

"You're not freaked out at all?"

"Why?" Connor asked. "What did you expect? For me to start calling you Blood Boy and run screaming in the other direction? I'll have you know I got over that whole screaming-like-a-girl phase when I was seven--"

Tracy cleared her throat, from behind him.

"–teen," he finished, reluctantly. "But that was only a one time deal that involved a rat in my locker."

Angel looked amused. "Right."

"Oh, what? Like you haven't screamed like a girl in the last, what, like 500 years?" Connor questioned. "How old are you, anyway?"

"No, I'm about – Why? Do I look 500?"

Wesley cleared his throat, "Angel, I needed to speak to you about something. I've been looking at some textual–"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Angel brushed him off. "That can wait, Wes . . . So, Connor, you're in college?"

"Yeah."

"Where at?"

"UCLA."

"Really?" Angel replied, a hint of appreciation in his tone . . .

--

Buffy sat in the passenger side of the car, stunned into silence. Even though she was staring out the window, the scenery flickered by her without notice or care. She was too caught up in the revelations Spike and Cordelia had just unloaded onto her in the last ten minutes. Not that they realized the effect it was having on her . . .

"Oh, wait! Turn left, Spike. You'll miss the exit!" Cordelia screamed.

"Oh, no. I'm not listening to your bloody directions anymore," Spike grumbled. "You had us going towards San Diego!"

"That was a simple misjudgment of the map. Forgive me, but it's been a while since I've been in this part of town."

"Yeah," Spike scoffed, annoyed. "And why is it women can't use a bloody map without turnin' it in the direction that they're heading?"

"Cause we suck at reading maps, is that what you want to hear?" Cordelia replied. "Well, you're right. Men read maps better than women. Cause only the egotistical male mind could possibly conceive of one inch equaling a hundred miles!"

Buffy sighed, feeling a headache coming on. "Guys! I am not playing referee between you two! Don't make me have you pull over this car!"

Both Cordelia and Spike huffed and puffed but eventually slid silently back into their seats, acting very much like quibbling children. Buffy even swore she saw Cordelia give Spike the evil eye.

"Now," Buffy continued, "you guys were saying - all the Potentials?"

Spike nodded, from the driver's seat. "That's the way it seems. No one's got a bloody checklist or anything. But yeah, every potential's now a brand spankin' new slayer."

Buffy swallowed past the lump in her throat, the implications flooring her. All the potentials. Every one. It wasn't just one slayer in every generation anymore. It wasn't just one sole girl fighting the impossible fight against an army of darkness. There were others now with the power and responsibility.

Was that a good thing or a bad? She and Faith had never gotten along, like they were stepping on each other's toes. How, then, would more than two Slayers play the game? In fact, how many were there? Dozens? More?

"How many?" Buffy asked. "How many Slayers are in this world?"

"No one knows, really," Spike replied. "Probably in the hundreds. They're still trying to dish out most of 'em."

Buffy jaw dropped at the response. Hundreds!

Not even in her wildest dreams had she even considered the notion of . . . it was just too impossible to think about! She forced herself to take a calming breath, too shocked to feel anything else, and after a moment continued with the questions. She'd ponder the answers later, when her brain resumed its proper functions.

"They?" she asked. "I thought you said the Watchers Council was destroyed. Who's looking for these girls?"

Cordelia answered this one from the back seat of the car. "The old Watchers Council was destroyed. It went kabloo-y last year, but there's a new one now. And I think it's fairly safe to say its' going to be different. You're . . . you're familiar with the founders."

Buffy closed her eyes as realization slowly set in. "Of course . . . Me. Willow, Xander, and Giles."

"Yeah," Cordelia replied, sympathetically.

She felt a piercing stab go through her heart at the possibility. In her world, she killed them off. Willow, Xander, and Giles had never had the chance of seeing the Hellmouth end. In fact, after their deaths, no one was left to guard the Hellmouth, and it quickly spiraled into a demon playground. But in this world, they were still fighting side by side with their Buffy, even after all these years. Even after every horrible thing that had happened to them in Sunnydale, they still managed to pull out of that chaos and survive.

The Scoobies were alive. There were hundred of Slayers. And the Hellmouth was closed. She wondered if the Buffy of this world knew how lucky she was.

"Earth to Buffy. You're too silent. Spill what you're thinking."

Buffy was too out of it to come up with anything but the truth. "Just that . . . what happened here in this world sounds pretty much perfect to me."

Spike looked at her as if she was crazy. "Bloody hell, woman! Were you listenin' to a bloody word I just said? The First Evil was devouring our ass for an entire sodding year. There were more Punky Brewster slayerettes in that bloody house of yours than it could properly hold. There was death, an occasional eye-gouging, and more death. Not to mention the bloody fight at the end that left not only yours truly at the tail end of a crater but, oh yeah, an entire bloody town as well! That bugger of a nightmare sounds perfect to you?"

"Yes," Buffy replied, with a shrug, "because in the end, I'd still trade places with that Buffy in a heartbeat. She had everything."

Spike sighed, incredulous. "Of course. Only you could be miserable enough to look at a flamin' yard of burning grass on the other side and declare it daintier than yours. Un-bloody-believable, Buffy."

"Dawn was alive, Spike," Buffy explained. "Willow and Xander were together and safe. And Giles was still her Watcher. They still had each other. In my world, it all went another way. Another gruesome, homicidal way. So from that particular point of view, forgive me if a couple of months being haunting by the big boogie man doesn't scare me off."

"People died," Spike replied, "and I'm not just talkin' about me, luv - Which by the way, would it be so bloody much for you to give a piss about that fact? A tear or two kill you? I bloody died in a painful death!"

"Been there. Done that. It's a hat-trick now," Buffy sing-songed. "And your dust particles seemed to have reanimated themselves fully, so what are you complaining about?"

"Point is, luv, others weren't as lucky as me." Spike said, "Just because the Scooby Gang got to sing Kumbaya together at the end, doesn't mean it was all puppy dogs and sunshine the entire time. People died. Good people, like Anya. She was a bloody Scoobie here, too."

"I'm sorry for Anya, I really am, but I didn't know her. I knew Willow, Xander, Dawn, and Giles. Those were the people I cared about. And MY point is, Spike, that they are at least alive and together in this world." Buffy responded, heatedly with a flare of jealousy mixed in for good measure. "Her family had the opportunity to live past the Hellmouth. You couldn't understand what that means to me."

"I could," Cordelia replied softly, from the back. "I do."

Buffy turned her head slightly and shared a look with Cordelia. An understanding that only they had passed between them. A survivor's understanding. Cordelia had lost her family too, back in their world. The difference between them was, Cordelia now had the opportunity to get hers back. She had her family right here in LA. Buffy's family, on the other hand, was half way across the world. And she knew if she were to intrude on the Scooby Gang of this world, all it would be is awkward and painful. They would have no need for two Buffys.

Spike drove on, choosing not to comment.

"Spike met one," Cordelia offered, offhandedly. "A slayer, I mean. I heard some vague reference to that yesterday. Right, Spike?"

Buffy turned to look at him with a piercing gaze, "You did?"

Spike shrugged, seemingly uncomfortable. "Long story, pet."

"Well, you've got my undivided attention," Buffy replied, incessant. "Tell me about her. Was she . . . How was she handling the responsibility? Was she adjusting fine? I mean, was she even allowed to have a normal life?"

"Normal's not a proper adjective for her."

Buffy turned annoyed. "What's that suppose to mean? How was she handling being a slayer?"

Spike kept his eyes on the dark road ahead of him, "If you're tying to suss out if the average slayer feels good about being part of the Chosen Many, she's not the best bloody example to go by. She had problems, luv. Deep seeded problems that had nothing to do with being a slayer. Take my word on that. The girl never had a chance at being normal."

Buffy paused, filling with dread. "Did she turn into another Faith? . . . Or worse, did she turn into another me?"

"Buffy," Cordelia began, annoyed. "Don't be melodramatic."

"I'm not!" Buffy refuted. "I just want to know. I mean, there are hundreds of slayers out there! Hundreds! Am I the only one freaked by that notion?"

"No. Pretty sure there a fair number of demons pissin' in their pants, too." Spike replied. "But that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Damn skippy," Cordelia agreed, adamantly. "I'm tired of being on the losing team. Finally, the scales have been tipped to the right side!"

Spike suddenly jerked the steering wheel so hard, for no apparent reason, that Buffy nearly slammed into the dashboard. A stream of cars came dangerously close to hitting them, but Spike managed to recover quickly enough from his suicidally dumb stunt and pulled the car back into it's rightful lane. The blaring of horns could be heard for several seconds before Cordelia and Buffy managed to recover their equilibrium.

"Are you off your freakin' rocker?!" Cordelia yelled. "God, where did you learn to drive?"

"What did you just say?" Spike asked, in a strange tone.

"I was calling you a bad driver," Cordelia replied, annoyed. "Learn to pick up on subtlety."

"Not that," Spike replied, annoyed. "Before . . . when you were talking about the scales. What did you mean by that?"

"What? When I said that the scales had been tipped to the right side? I was using a little thing called a metaphor - another subtlety that has apparently gone over your head. God, I thought you were a poet."

"You're talkin' about the bloody scale between good and evil, right?" Spike muttered, paying no attention to Cordelia's scathing tone. "And it's the slayers that imbalanced it?"

Cordelia looked confused, as if she didn't see what the big deal was. Buffy had to admit, she was right there with her.

"I see you've decided to go psycho, Spike," Cordelia remarked, nodding. "Normally I'd say Godspeed, but not when I'm in the car with you."

"Spike, what are you going on about?" Buffy asked, curiously.

"Chaos," he muttered, eyes flashing. "Bloody chaos and harmony. That's what she was talking about."

"Who?"

"The Oracle."

"What Oracle?" Buffy asked. "When did you see an Oracle? . . . Wait, how come I didn't even know we had Oracles? I was once the slayer. I should get the heads up about these things."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Maybe it was in the Slayer Handbook."

Buffy glared back at Cordelia, then managed to catch Spike's eyes. Just for a moment, his gaze slide down to her swelling stomach with a look Buffy didn't like. He recovered quickly though, so quickly that she thought the pointed gaze might have been her imagination.

"Oh bloody hell, I'm too sober for this."

"What's wrong, Spike?"

"Never mind," he answered, sighing with annoyance.

"Never mind what?" Buffy asked. "We have to know what we're minding in the first place before we can . . . never mind it."

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled into Wolfram and Hart's parking lot and needlessly announced their destination with a distracted tone, leaving Cordelia and Buffy starring at him in bewilderment.

"Okay, you know what?" Cordelia began, "I'm leaving psycho boy in your hands, Buffy. I'll meet you guys inside."

She quickly got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind her, walking away. Buffy didn't even turn to acknowledge her leave, instead she faced Spike with an expression that dared him to bullshit her.

He drummed his fingers distractedly and eventually looked over at her, "What is it, luv? I know I'm handsome, but it's still not polite to stare."

She'd nearly forgotten how frustrating it was to talk with him.

"What's going on, Spike?"

He fidgeted in his seat, as if defeated. "Well, I've got some bloody good news," Spike said, with forced levity. "Went to an annoying-as-hell Oracle today, and she said some things . . . None of it was the ruddy good kind, though. Left me with a nice warm apocalypse-y feeling with all the cryptic junk she was throwing my way."

Buffy looked confused. "I thought you said you had good news?"

"Oh, I do," Spike said, solemnly. "I've just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico. Isn't that fantastic?"

Buffy sighed, irritated. Damn commercial. "Spike . . ."

Spike smirked, "Listen, luv, truth is I don't know what the Oracle was talking about. She used lines that only a ruddy code-breaker could understand. I'm starting to get it, but it's gonna take time. You're just going to trust me to do that by myself."

"I could help," Buffy offered, eagerly. "I'm an expert with the cryptic jargon. Death is my gift, after all."

Spike flinched, "Don't think it's the sharing type, luv. Just trust me."

Buffy paused, curiosity and her desire to know waging against her trust in Spike. What could have Spike so out of wack? Even when ominous things like Oracles were involved, not a lot rattled Spike. She entertained the idea of just bombarding him with question after question until he caved, telling her whatever she wanted to know, but since he asked for her trust, something that he was well entitled to, she reluctantly and slowly backed off. Still, she fidgeted in annoyance at being left in the dark.

"Okay. In Spike, we trust." Buffy agreed, eventually. "But you're going to owe me an explanation, eventually."

He nodded, almost relieved. "You'll be at the top of my list."

"I better be."

Buffy paused, and it slowly dawned on her that right now, sitting in this car, was the first moment they'd had a chance to be alone together. Before, there was always someone else around. An inexplicable desire to spill her guts suddenly overtook her, and wanting to seize the opportunity, a dozen different things flittered through her head. She and Spike needed to talk, but where did she begin?

"Let me ask you something," Spike said, making the choice for her. "Been a bit curious about this, myself. What happened in your world? Between us, I mean."

Buffy tried not to flinch. "I thought Cordelia told you the story already."

"She left some Grand Canyon size gaps in between." Spike answered. "I know all about your little tryst with Angelus in LA, and how you bloody well went after every one of the Team Angel gang, one bloke after another. But what happened in Sunnydale? What happened between us?"

Buffy sighed, "I was turned. That's what happened. I kept up my special birthday tradition of gut-wrenching misery and horror."

"Cheerleader mentioned something about your birthday," Spike recalled.

"That's the night I was turned," Buffy said, sighing. "Fine, I'll go down memory lane for you, but just . . . bare with me. After my birthday party, when everybody else had gone home, I went patrolling . . . I remember I was still wearing the leather jacket Dawn had bought me, cause Willow had managed to use her magic mojo to do away that stupid little security tag."

"Sounds familiar," Spike replied. "That's the night we got stuck in your house because of Dawn's bloody wish."

"Huh?"

"You didn't have that bloody vengeance demon make a special appearance on your birthday?"

"You mean Anya?" Buffy asked, confused.

"No, one of her annoying friends," Spike explained. "Dawn got herself her own vengeance demon. Made a wish that no one would leave her, and in our own little warped version of a reality show, we ended up trapped in that bloody house for hours. It would have been for forever too, but the demon found a rather nice flaw in that sodding web of hers."

Buffy shrugged. "I never met any vengeance demons in my world."

"Didn't exist there?"

"No, Cordelia's heard of 'em," Buffy replied, "I just hadn't. Anyway, that's way besides the point here. I was talking about my birthday, and there, no wishes were made . . . Except on my birthday cake. And that was a big fat bust. I'm still waiting to see my face on a Wheaties Box."

Spike smirked, then quickly sobered up again. "So what happened that night? Master vampire?"

Buffy smiled, humorless. "No, the joke was on me. It was just an average garden variety vampire that got off a lucky shot. I even think he was a newbie."

Spike stared. "You're kidding."

"I wish I was. I wish I could say that I at least went down swinging, or that it was an epic battle for the record books, but the truth is . . . he jumped me from behind and I never saw it coming. He didn't even know I was the Slayer."

Spike looked incredulous.

"I know!" Buffy replied, to his look. "Trust me, the first thing I thought when I woke up, besides feeling really really thirsty for blood, was that I was about to die again, this time of pure embarrassment. My sire was an idiot. He didn't even last the first week past my death. You saw to that."

"I killed him?" Spike said, looking annoyingly pleased by that. "Score one for Big Bad."

"Yeah," Buffy replied, with a shrug "I didn't mind. I had already . . . My plans didn't include him."

Truth was, at that point she was already contemplating getting Spike on her side, and when he killed her pathetic excuse of a Sire, she used that to lure him in. She played all the cards in her hand, using his love as a tool, praying on his fractional sense of morality, and goaded all his most basic of soulless yearnings to get what she wanted. Him.

"After that, after weeks of futile fighting . . . we slept together. Things quickly spiraled out of control when we were together. I slowly eroded away all that 'do-gooder crap' the Scoobies had instilled in you. And eventually you came around to my kind of thinking and reverted into good old William the bloody."

"I . . .?" Spike looked sickened by the thought.

"You heard me," Buffy replied, trying to explain. "All you saw was me. That we could be together. At the drop of a hat, you would have given me the world if I had asked."

She realized that fact only after she was turned. Before, when she was alive, she wouldn't let herself think about Spike that way. Spike couldn't have possibly been a human being that loved and had feelings, right? It was easier to label him as something to be tolerated, even if towards the end of her life, she had started to feel a spark of something else towards him as well.

But it was still only after she became soulless herself that she looked hard at Spike and really liked what she saw. And since he'd been bound to morality by only two thin threads: His love for her, and that chip in his head, it was only a matter of time before she pulled him down to her level.

"We learned our ways around the chip," Buffy said, sickening in memory. "Pretty soon Sunnydale was the demon equivalent of Eden. Killings. Maiming. Pillaging. Chewing gum in school . . . You get the idea."

He closed his eyes in revulsion. "And what, we bloody ruled chaos together while bumping uglies?"

"For a while, yeah."

Spike looked at her, the first hint of anger emerging in his eyes. She wasn't sure if that anger was directed at her, or himself. She got her answer quickly enough, though. "Bloody hell. Knew I was weak-minded back then, but . . . bloody hell."

"It wasn't your fault. Not most of it, anyway. I can be pretty convincing when I put my mind to it."

He snorted, with no amusement. "Why is it you always come to me when you're at your lowest? In this world when you were bummed about being alive, it ended in a rough patch that heavily featured you naked on my bed . . . And on the cemetery ground. And behind the DoubleMeat Palace, if you catch my not so subtle drift."

"I don't know," Buffy replied, "I guess I took comfort in you."

"Bollocks," Spike replied, heatedly. "You used me. Let's call it what it was. The only way you ever allowed yourself to be with a soulless creature like me, was when you wanted to punish yourself."

"I was a vampire, Spike," Buffy replied. "I don't know how it went down here, but in my world I had no soul, either. Being with you had nothing to do with punishing myself."

"Just wanted to have a randy, homicidal time, eh?" Spike questioned. "Bide your time till you left to be with Captain Forehead?

Buffy looked away, abashed. "The truth is, I just wanted to let loose and have some fun. Being with you allowed me to do that."

"Glad I could help," Spike muttered, dryly.

"But it wasn't always like that. You . . . you rose above it. You did what I couldn't even do."

"And what the bloody hell was that?" Spike asked.

"You tried to save Sunnydale," She answered. "You tried to stop me. Even soulless, you still decided to be good. I sure as hell didn't do that."

Spike laughed, bitterly. "I wasn't your love-sick bitch for life, then? That's a shocker. What brought this change of heart around?"

Buffy paused, eyes filling with tears. "It was because I killed Dawn."

Spike seemed to freeze, a naked expression of shock appearing on his face. It wasn't nearly one tenth of the expression she'd seen on his face that night, standing over Dawn's body. When he looked at the neck wound that had killed his little Nibblet, Spike had an expression on his face that was unforgettable. His face had flickered with so many emotions, so many between love and hatred, loyalty and betrayal, it had been almost heartbreaking to witness.

This expression, right now, was different. It didn't hold the same horror or illness. It didn't hold a candle to the disgust she'd seen that night on his face. But it still had its own flavor of venom to it, and filling with shame and self loathing, Buffy forced herself to continue.

"I killed Dawn," Buffy said, painfully. "I killed my sister, and even you, William the Bloody, couldn't stand to look at me anymore. That's what happened. I didn't leave you, Spike . . . you left me."

Spike's face closed off.

"You looked the other way when I killed Willow and Xander," Buffy continued. "Sure, you tried to stop it, but when you failed and they died, you made excuses to yourself. You stayed with me anyway, despite all the doubt that was growing in your head. That I wasn't the same Buffy you knew. You stayed with me because you loved me . . ."

Spike waited, silently.

"But when I killed Dawn . . . when I killed the only other thing in the world you cared about, you came to your senses. You realized that everything you ever loved about me was dead, and you were right. I was a soulless bitch that was simply out for blood."

"Buffy–"

"You were right to turn away, Spike," Buffy continued, without pause. "I hated you for it at the time, but now I look back and . . . I'm proud. I'm grateful that you tried to kill me."

"And there's that sodding logic of yours, Buffy. I've missed that."

Buffy smirked, despite herself. "You tried to protect Sunnydale and Giles from me. It didn't work, but you tried. Thank you for that."

Spike met her gaze. "Not me that did it, luv. That was another bloke, equally dashing and answered to the name of Spike, too. But he wasn't me."

God, he was right. How was she suppose to feel any difference between this Spike and hers? There was barely any differences to notice. At least with Angel it was easier to separate. In her world, there was no Angel anymore. Only Angelus. The lines between this world and hers were easily differentiated in that respect. And many others, too.

But with Spike? He was so much like the Spike of her world that there was barely any distinctions to pick up on. For a second there, she had completely forgotten about alternate realities and dimensional portals. For a second, it felt like she had been talking to Spike, no oddities to it at all.

She turned away. "You're right. That Spike is long dead. Angelus dusted him . . . before he ever got the chance to know how much I cared for him."

After a moment, she heard Spike sigh. "Cared?"

It was the touch of disappointment that caused Buffy to turn her head back and look into Spike's eyes.

He smiled back, sadly. "If he was anything like me, and he sure sounds thick enough, than 'care' was not the bloody word he'd want to hear . . ."

Buffy paused, the word 'love' echoing in her mind. She did love Spike, but was she ever in love with him? . . The fact that she had to give pause, had to think about it, told her more than anything else. Love wasn't something you rationalized about. You felt it through and through and there was very little hesitation about putting a name to it.

Spike had been an anchor for her. He had been there and offered everything he had, never hesitating for the slightest moment. It was Buffy that had held back. It was Buffy that had always left the 'I love yous' unreturned. She had used and practically abused his unselfish love to the point of repugnance. The truth was, she didn't deserve the kindness Spike had shown her. She didn't deserve the unflinching adoration he had once bestowed upon her. She didn't deserve Spike, period.

And it all boiled down to one thing. Buffy could never have appreciated Spike to his fullest, because she had never been in love with him. Not the head-over-heals-destined-to-be-soul- mates-can't-breath-without-each-other type of love, anyway.

She experienced that only once in her life. Only once, with one man.

". . . but then," Spike sighed, breaking the moment of bristling silence. "if the bugger really was anything like me, he'd also call you on a lie. Did that myself, once, when Buffy used the L- word."

"Spike . . . the problem with the L-word has never been your fault. It was always me. Not you, but me--"

Spike turned annoyed at that, and managed to roll his eyes and get out of the car in a huff before Buffy even finished her sentence. She ended up staring at the now empty driver seat in bewilderment, and winced as he slammed the door shut.

"Gee, was it something I said?" she asked, slowly getting out of the car and facing his agitation head on.

"It's not you, its me?" He repeated, incredulous. "Were you just about to give me the ruddy 'it's not you, its me' spiel?"

"Uh . . . no."

His eyes narrowed, "You bloody well were."

"No, I was not."

"Bollocks."

"Don't you bollocks me! It's not what I was going to say."

"Really?"

She paused, thinking about it. The more she did, the more she realized she really was going to go with the done-to-death line of 'it's not you, its me.' But the thing of it was, that no matter how cliched the line was, it was still the truth.

She sighed, "Maybe I was--"

"Ah-ha!" Spike replied, "I bloody knew it!"

"Spike, I don't care if it is a monumentally stupid thing to say right now! It's how I feel. It really isn't you, its me. I'm not in a place where I want . . . I just . . ." She sighed, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "I've spent my life constantly bombarded with one thing after another. I've never known peace or tranquility, and I probably never will. But part of that is my fault, cause every time I've had normal and carefree, I mucked it up by complicating it with the type of drama only I can do."

"Any decade now, you're gonna get to the point?"

"Point is, Mr. 'get to the pointy' pants, I'm tired. I just want to relax, take a break, and stop the complications for a little while. I want time to myself."

"Somehow, I think if this conversation were happening with a certain hair-gelled ponce, it'd be going differently."

She sighed. "Spike, this has nothing to do with Angel."

He snorted, haughtily. "I look forward to the day that's true."

"Well, say hello! Cause today's the day," Buffy replied. "I'm talking about you and me. I never mentioned Angel."

"You never have to, but he's like a sodding cloud around your head."

"Oh my god," Buffy groaned in frustration. "Somebody shoot me, now."

"You know, the way this conversation is going, just find me a bloody gun and I'll take both of us out of our misery."

"Fine, you wanna be that way, go ahead. You and Angel have a lot of sire/grandsire issues that have nothing to do with me, and if you wanna use me as an excuse to cover it all up, go ahead. I don't care. But just understand this, I'm not a freakin' prize."

"Never took you as a trophy wife, luv."

"Yeah, well, I'm a pregnant vampire the size of a whale." Buffy replied, dryly. "We'd be talking about one hell of a shelf to put me on."

Spike grunted, sardonically.

She sighed, and started pacing around in frustration. "Alright, let's try this again . . .Spike, your friendship means a helluva lot to me, but if you're--"

"Friendship?" Spike interrupted, in an odd tone. "You fancy being my friend now?"

She stopped in her tracks, and slowly turned around. "Always."

She stepped forward, and tried again. There was a desperate need in her to begin making amends with Spike. Mainly, a good portion of it was guilt. God, guilt drove so many of her actions. But it was more than that with Spike. Much more. They'd been through so much together, if he couldn't even stand to be around her anymore, she had no idea what she'd do. She really did love him, in a way she never loved anyone else. For all that had happened to them, how could she not?

"In some way or another, you always mattered to me. Even at my most darkest moments, Spike," Buffy said. "Don't make a pregnant women cry. Just tell me . . . that we have a chance, some remote chance, at friendship."

He looked her in the eye, and sighed. "Maybe a remote chance."

She smiled, "You mean it?"

"Yeah," he replied, solemnly. "But we're talking a bloody small chance. Midget sized. A baby midget, in fact."

"A baby midget sized chance?" Buffy repeated, smiling. "I'll take that. I can definitely deal with that . . . Speaking of midgets, I'm suddenly very hungry."

Spike sighed, and started walking away. "What the bloody hell have I gotten myself into now?"

--

In a mixture of pain and satisfaction, Angel watched Connor without trying to make it obvious that he was watching Connor. He didn't want to attract any attention from the numerous people gathered in the large room, after all.

But every time the boy smiled or laughed out loud (which happened an insane number of times for what was once a sullen boy), Angel's dead unbeating heart swelled with a type of joy he hadn't felt in a long time. His son was happy and carefree, a notion that seemed too good to be true. Yet, time and time again, Angel watched as the notion was proven fact with a simple smile or a heartfelt laugh, and it was one of the most uplifting sights he'd ever seen on Connor.

But of course, it would be too odd for Angel to see this silver cloud without spotting the dark lining hidden within. For at the root of his joy, there was also a bittersweet tinge that everyone around him would have immediately identified as 'brooding.' Connor had managed to turn out to be a well-adjusted person despite Angel, not because of him. He couldn't take any credit whatsoever for the boy - no, young man - in front of him now. And while that barb hurt more than anything, Angel resolved himself to enjoy his son's company while he still had it, and return to the regular scheduled broadcasting of brooding at a later time.

Cause right now, his son was having a conversation and Angel didn't want to miss a second of it.

Tracy, Connor's girlfriend, smiled up at him. ". . . So then, of course, Connor tried to weasel out of studying until the last moment. And that's how we ended up in the library today."

"Hey!" His son replied, indignant. "Weaseling out of things is important to learn. It's what separates us from the animals... except the weasel, of course."

Tracy rolled her eyes, yet still had a smile tugging at her lips. Angel had to admit, he found Connor's new girlfriend vastly more fitting and appropriate than his last one. The mere thought of him and--

"Cordelia!" Fred hollered down the hall. "We're over here!"

Angel leaned towards the doorway and spotted Cordelia walking towards them with hands full of takeout bags. His stomach suddenly twisted with the uncomfortable notion of seeing Cordelia with Connor again. Those two together, even after everything he knew, still managed to set him ill at ease.

He tried to rationalize that Connor and the rest didn't even remember any of those events. Hell, this Cordelia in question wasn't even the same Cordelia that had slept with his son last year. And even if it was, she would have had the justifiable excuse of being possessed by a demon to excuse her of any odd and downright evil behavior, the least of which included sleeping with his son.

Still, Angel found himself childishly wishing he could somehow keep the two people separated at all times. Maybe he could distract her until Connor left and–

"Yo, Cordelia, come over here and meet Tracy and Connor. They were just telling us about your wild adventure today."

Note to self: Give Gunn a pay-cut effective immediately.

Cordelia walked in and spotted the two college students, and smiled that 100 watt smile. "Hey, if it isn't Boy Wonder and his girlfriend. I was wondering if you guys were still here. Sorry we were late, but I think Spike blocked one too many punches with his head today. He's having mental problems, but Buffy and him should be up any sec."

Angel briefly wondered what Buffy and Spike were doing together, then forced himself to not dwell on any possible answers. He was trying to keep his jealousy to a minium. After all, what business was it of his? It's not like he was Buffy's keeper . . .

"So . . ." Angel began, ever so innocently. "What exactly--"

Cordelia sighed, exasperated. "They're talking in his car."

Backseat or front? Angel silently mused.

"Boy Wonder?" Fred questioned, suddenly curious. "Did you just call Connor Boy Wonder?"

"Oh, Connor here saved my life in the library," Cordelia explained. "He went totally Van Helsing with a crossbow."

Angel turned to Connor, surprised and a little proud. "You used the crossbow? And hit the target?"

Had it been the old Connor that did it, Angel wouldn't have batted an eyelash. But this new Connor, thanks to Wolfram and Hart, was simply a normal kid with average reflexes and strength. The fact that he still managed to kill a demon, without superpowers and all, made Angel even more proud.

Connor smiled, slightly embarrassed. "Well, it was a lucky shot."

Tracy raised an eyebrow, "Actually, he learned some archery in highschool. He won several tournaments on a state-wide level."

"Actually," Connor countered, and shared a significant look with his girlfriend, "the truth is I learned very quickly that to be sure of hitting the target, shoot first, and whatever you hit, call it the target. It's a little trick I picked up. It's really nothing."

"Yeah," Tracy agreed, sardonically. "Especially since you're better at fencing than you are at archery. He has this whole weird obsession with weaponry. Don't let his little 'Aw-shucks, I'm just Joe-Normal' routine fool you. He's really good."

Cordelia and the rest looked suitable impressed, while Angel felt his elevation slowly dropping. He liked weapons? That sounded . . . familiar. Wasn't that suppose to be a major no-no in his contract with Wolfram and Hart? He needed to go over the details soon.

"Well," Cordelia began, lightly. "If you ever feel up to crime fighting or demon fighting, who you gonna call?"

"Ghostbusters?" Connor replied, confused.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "I meant us, Nimrod. We could use some teenagers with weapon's expertise. Been a while since I've seen one of those."

"Really?" Connor asked, a little too hopefully.

Angel cut in, a little outraged. "No, of course not! Kids your age should be studying and having fun. Not demon fighting."

"What are you talking about?" Cordelia questioned, incredulous. "My entire highschool career seemingly revolved around that demon crap. And I won't even bring up Buffy. We were way younger than them."

Gunn seemed to agree, "Just cause they're young, doesn't mean they can't fight."

Angel sent them both a withering glare. "Doesn't mean they should."

"Actually," Connor began, in a tone Angel didn't like. "I was hoping that you guys could--"

"No!!" Angel interrupted, heatedly.

Everybody turned look at him strangely, but he ignored them because the mere thought of Connor even thinking about going down this road again had Angel suddenly flashing back to last year. With the death and chaos and absolute destruction. Like hell, he'd allow that to happen again. Not after everything he went through to get Connor derailed from that path in the first place.

"Whatever your thinking, Connor, this place isn't for kids." Angel added, trying to recover his equilibrium. "You just focus on your studies. That's what you're suppose to do at this age."

"But that's just it," Connor countered, "You could help me with my studies."

"You study demons all of a sudden? Cause that's the only thing this law firm specializes in."

"Actually," Tracy said, smiling at her boyfriend, "that's not true."

Connor smiled back, and then turned to Angel. "I'm a pre-law major. The highlighted word in that sentence is 'law'. I was kinda hoping . . . seeing how everybody here is so nice and informative, and you know, works at a law firm . . . that I could get an internship, maybe? What do you think?"

"No." Angel answered, immediately. "Actually, let me rephrase that . . ." He blanked on something witty to say, and feeling slightly stupid, just said, ". . . No."

"What a minute," Cordelia interrupted. "I kinda like the sound of that. He saved my life. He deserves a reward for that."

"How about a cookie?" Angel replied, dryly. "We can give him a cookie."

"Did somebody mention cookies?"

Everybody seemed to turn towards the doorway, spotting Spike and Buffy walking in. And, something he noticed happened without fail around Buffy, his senses suddenly heightened tenfold. After a quick unconscious sniff which told him that none of Spike's 'smell' was on her, Angel quickly pulled his gaze away from the pair with an insane amount of relief.

"Down, girl," Cordelia said. "Nobody has cookies."

"Probably the only bloody thing we don't have," Spike grumbled, looking at the takeout bags.

Wesley stepped forward and made the last of the formal introductions for them, and Angel was relieved to note that finally everything was in the clear. Everybody had met Connor without the slightest bit of double-take. And while Spike and Buffy (and Cordelia, he supposed) were the only ones who never met Connor before, and therefore the least likely to make the unlikely connection, Spike and Buffy were also the only other vampires present. Vampires that could, if they concentrated enough, pick up on the subtle similarities in smell between Connor and Angel.

Angel felt like he'd dodged an array of bullets with that. Nobody knew. Even with Connor standing in front of them, nobody had a clue who he really was. The relief, Angel quickly found, had a bittersweet tinge to it as well. It meant that nobody knew or would ever know, that once upon a time, Angel had a son.

"So . . . if we weren't talking about cookies, what were we talking about?"

"Connor wants an internship here," Cordelia said. "Angel, for some reason, is deciding to rain on everyone's parade."

"Who? Peaches?" Spike replied, feigning shock. "Say it ain't so, big boy."

Buffy turned towards Connor. "You really want an internship, here?"

"Are you kidding me? It'd look great on my Law School applications." Connor replied, "Wolfram and Heart is one of the most competitive firms to get a job at."

"There's a reason for that," Angel responded, "It's a dog eat dog world. Only occasionally interchange 'dog' with the words 'demon' and 'human'. It's an evil feeding frenzy here, people! Need I remind you of that?"

"Not anymore," Cordelia replied. "You guys are in charge."

"Yeah, Angel cakes," Lorne agreed. "We're going strictly legit now."

"There are still evil factions within the firm, guys." Angel said, "Do I need to bring up the Surveillance division? You know, the one that tried to kill you and Buffy at the Hyperion."

"You had those people fired and the entire division shut down," Cordelia rebutted.

"Ooh," Buffy agreed, jumping on Cordelia's side. "That's a perfect example of why you need to hire Connor. Cause you need to replace the bad with the good. . . Connor isn't bad, right?"

Connor nodded, eagerly. "I'm strictly a by-the-book guy. Some would say saint-like."

Tracy rolled her eyes. "Let's not over exaggerate here. You've got a couple of years to go before you reach sainthood."

"Alright. I'm like Santa Claus good, then."

"You're a big fat man that gives gifts?"

"No, but I can do a mean 'Ho Ho Ho.' And there was that one time I played an elf in the school play."

"That was the third grade," Tracy replied.

"Still counts."

"Well, that's all well and good," Angel interrupted, annoyed. "But being an elf in the third grade will help you against demons how? It's still not safe here."

"My own college library isn't safe," Connor countered. "At least, here, I can learn to defend myself."

"You don't need to learn how to defend yourself, that's what I'm for!" Angel replied. "I mean . . . that's what this law firm is for!'

"So this law firm isn't evil, you say?" Buffy asked pointedly, trading looks with Cordelia.

Cordelia smiled, brightly. "I guess by implication that means it's safe."

"And if it's safe, then it's only logical to assume that he can come and work here--"

Cordelia picked up where Buffy left off, "–starting bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Better make it Monday morning," Buffy countered. "Have a nice relaxing weekend before you become a worker bee."

"Good idea," Cordelia agreed. "Monday morning, then. You're hired."

"What?!!" Angel exclaimed, feeling whiplash. "Now, wait just a sec--"

"Excellent," Connor overrode, grabbing Tracy by the hand. "You guys won't regret this. I'm a hard worker. Diligent, punctual, and a quick learner."

"Wow. He's sounds like he's all that and a bag of potato chips," Buffy remarked.

Cordelia flinched. "Never say anything like that again, Buffy."

"Can't pull it off?" Buffy asked, genuinely curious.

"No." Several people answered at once.

Angel cut in, trying to be gentle. "I'm sure you would be a great employee here, Connor, but the thing is--"

"You know, I just suddenly noticed it's very late," Cordelia interrupted, quickly. "Or very early, depending on your point of view. You guys should get outta here sometime before sunrise, right?"

Angel glared at Cordelia. "Yes, he should. But he's not getting--"

"--Any younger," Buffy finished, sardonically. "Absolutely right, guys. We've taken far too much time. College students need that good old fashion sleep. We'll work out the details of your job on Monday."

Angel turned his glare towards Buffy. "But he's not coming back--"

"--Without a relaxing weekend. Right again, Angel. Hit the beach," Cordelia recommended. "Go see a movie. Do crazy college stuff like going to the pet store and teaching the parrots new unsuitable vocabulary."

"That's always fun," Buffy agreed.

"Ha, ha, ha," Angel mocked, "but you two aren't--"

"Will you two go already?" Cordelia exclaimed, exasperated. "We can only override him so many times."

"How about a distraction, then? Might I suggest flashing certain anatomically girly parts?" Spike offered.

Angel, Cordelia, and Buffy turned simultaneously to glare at Spike, finding no humor in the suggestion. Spike simply smirked, and then waved goodbye to Connor and Tracy who had used the opportunity to quickly flee the scene.

"See you guys Monday!" Connor hollered, as he rounded the corner and disappeared.

"But you're not hired–" Angel exclaimed.

"Quick, luv. Flash him!"

Buffy hit Spike upside the head, which elicited a colorful British expletive in response.

Angel ended up standing there, dumbfounded. Buffy and Cordelia had just ganged up on him, and all he could to do was meekly watch the byplay and try a few fruitless attempts to get in a word edgewise. They had totally bulldozed him, and now Connor, his son whom he'd done so much to keep away from the big evils of the world, was coming Monday morning to work at Evil Incorporated!

He rounded about to face Buffy and Cordelia, annoyance and anger rising. Of all the downright stupid things to do!

Only problem was, when he rounded about to face Buffy and Cordelia, well . . . he ended up facing Buffy and Cordelia. Both. Together. At the same time and on the same side. This was something he had never prepared himself to face. Angel knew he didn't stand a chance in hell against the looks of determination on the faces of the two most stubborn, possibly most intimidating, women that he had ever met.

Spike was snickering in the background somewhere, and Angel wanted to reach over and hit him upside the head, too. He settled for when Cordelia did it, instead.

--

Across town, the Hyperion stood abandoned once again. Despite having such a rich history embedded in those walls, the majestic hotel continually found itself forgotten by it's previous occupants. It was all well and good, one supposed, because if those walls could talk, they'd probably scream.

However, as the sun had fully risen over the skies of Los Angelus on this particular day, the Hyperion's silence was disturbed yet again. Static and snaps of lightning charged the air. A growing gust of wind started whirling inside the formidably large building. And with a colorful display in shades of blue and green, a powerful portal quickly formed over the center of the lobby.

Three figures dropped down gracefully from the powerful portal, and while the three together was an unexpected sight for those who knew them well, they were still in alike company. For mark this, there were no heroes among them. In fact, together, these three rivaled any grim reaper in murder and mayhem.

Angelus, Drusilla, and Anyanka were considered legendary killers, after all.

Anya ended the vortex with an audible snap. "We're here," she declared, irritated. "Now give me back my power source before I decide to infect your genitals with disease-contracting lice for all eternity."

Angelus smirked, "Not the deal we had. You have to get us back home through another one of your nifty inter-dimension portals, too. Until then, your little necklace stays with me. Got it?"

Angelus turned away, ignoring the malevolent glare the vengeance demon was sending his way. He had more important things on his mind than a pissed off vengeance demon that he had power over. His mind was preoccupied with the thoughts of a certain pregnant vampire that he had come here to find.

Buffy was here, in this very world. And he had delicious plans for her.

Drusilla glided to his side then, the edges of her white gown trailing the ground behind her. Angelus noticed with a smile that her new favorite dress had already become sodden with dirt. She never could keep her cloths clean. If it wasn't dirt-ridden, it was blood-covered. Not that Angelus minded much, it just meant he'd have to take her shopping soon and it was a real pain the ass to find her those Victorian style dresses.

"Ohh," Drusilla cooed, with childlike enthusiasm. "This world sings to me. Dances with pain, it does."

"Does it, baby?" Angelus asked, playfully. "But we only just arrived."

Anyanka rolled her eyes, irritation at the two coming off in waves. "There's nothing painful about this world. It's still run by mortal humans. Mostly men, at that."

"But Buffy and Cordelia are here?" Angelus questioned, turning serious. "You're sure of that?"

Anya sighed, "Of course, I'm sure. I always know where one of my former charges go. Cordelia is in this very city, along with the fat she-vampire. They've been here for some time now."

Drusilla walked by Anya, "The nasty soul is getting in the way, muddying the waters and making little Buffy cry. Just like Daddy use to."

Angelus nodded, "But Daddy's not going anywhere, baby. And if all goes as planned, Buffy is coming back, too."

"And what of my Spike?"

Angelus sighed. Drusilla had never really forgiven him for staking Spike in their world, perhaps he could make it up to her with bringing this Spike into the fold . . . "If he plays nice, then maybe."

"He'll play . . . only rough, though. That's all he knows how to play."

Angelus smirked, then turned towards the vengeance demon. "So you, Anya, Patron Saint of Whining Bitches, just have to play nice until I get what we came for, and then I'll give you back what's yours."

Anya eyed him, distrustful. "You better, vampire. I've got friends in high places."

"Naughty, naughty," Drusilla chided absentmindedly, trailing fingers across the dusty counter top. "No fighting over spilled blood. There's plenty to go around."

Angelus watched as Drusilla gazed at him through slitted eyes, before biting the air and dancing off. She eventually disappeared down the staircase to the basement, and Angelus himself decided to take a moment to circle around the lobby in contemplation, finding the place just as he remembered it was in his own world.

"It's still got a great atmosphere, doesn't it?" he mused. "I mean, where else in Los Angelus can you find a hotel that has mystical portals, pentagrams written on the floor, and great square footage? There's just not that many in the market these days. Pity."

Anya walked over to him. "What's your plan?"

Angelus eyed her, then shrugged. "No harm in telling you, I suppose. After all, one little vengeance toe out of place, and wham, bye bye necklace. Bye bye powers."

Anya turned enraged, "If you were any other being right now, I'd liquify your entrails and feed them to the vultures, and--"

"Colorful," Angelus interrupted as a sort of compliment, then tapped the conspicuously large ring on his left hand. "But with this, you know all that is . . . well, just wishful thinking."

Anya narrowed her eyes dangerously, but remained silent.

Angelus sighed. "Oh, but I was telling you about my plans, wasn't I? Right now, I think we should just lay low. At least for a couple of weeks, anyway. Then we'll use that whole 'element of surprise' thing to our advantage."

"That's all?" Anya said, derisively.

"Why? You don't think its elegant in it's simplicity? I'm wounded."

"If you want to kill Buffy and Cordelia, then do it already. I've got things to do this century."

Angelus looked over at her with disgust, "What type of vengeance demon are you? You should know - never go for the kill when you can go for the pain. Besides, there are far worse things in life than death. And I'm one of them."

"While I'm impressed with your lack of scruples, I won't sit idly by while you hurl badly altered cliches at me. I have more important things to do than to watch you play games with your on- again, off-again undead sweetheart."

"It's all about patience." Angelus rebutted. "Am I getting it wrong here? You were the one that manipulated Cordelia's wish so masterfully, right? I would think, given your track-record, you'd understand a little something called execution."

Anya's irritation hinted with a spot of haughtiness. "It was a beautiful wish, wasn't it? It's one of my favorites, I think . . . Although there was that one wish that involved Stalin."

Angelus had to give credit where it was due. "You're an artist, Anyanka. So am I. Who says we can't work together and get along just because I'm blackmailing you?"

Anya remained silent, noticeably contemplating Angelus's words.

From down in the basement, Drusilla give a cry. Angelus wasn't quite sure if it was a cry of delight or a cry of pain, not that there was much difference when it came to these things in regards to Drusilla. Still, more out of curiosity than concern, Angelus walked over to the basement doorway and called out for his childe to see what had grabbed her ever-wandering attention.

A moment later, Drusilla emerged from the staircase, flush with excitement. "They have a cage. A big glistening cage to lock the baddies. What fun."

"Really?" Angelus asked, surprised. "A cage in the basement? . . . Now why the hell didn't I think of that?"

Drusilla quickly walked up to him, coming so close she was whispering in his ear. "Are we going to paint the town red, red, red now? Oh, I so want to, Daddy."

"The sun's up right now, Dru," he answered, patiently. "You can't go out. But I'll bring you back something good to eat. Promise."

"Something young and wiggling?"

"Anything for you, Dru."

Dru pouted anyway, "Still, you never take me anywhere. Ever since you got that ring, I'm just your second favorite toy now. It's such a beautiful day, and I want to go out with you."

"You can't Dru. The sun's out--"

"Yes, yes, yes," Anya interrupted them, irritated. "The sun is out, birds are singing, bees are trying to have sex with them -- as is my understanding. But what am I suppose to do? I'm not staying here cooped up with Miss-Hears-Voices-in-her-Head-that-Tell-Her-to-Write-Letters-to- Jodie-Foster."

Angelus shrugged, quickly pulling out some money from his pocket and handing it to her. "I don't know. Go out and buy yourself something nice. Maybe some makeup that goes well with your veiny complexion?"

Anya eyed the money in her hand, distastefully. "Money? What am I suppose to do with the a medium of exchange that functions as legal tender for humans? I'm an eleven-hundred year old vengeance demon."

"But you don't look a day over four-hundred," Angelus complemented. "Still, who knows? You might like shopping."

She paused, her expression suddenly softening. "Well . . . I do find myself strangely comforted by the texture of this money."

"Most women do," Angelus said, condescendingly. He started walking towards the door. "Until later, ladies. Don't wait up, cause in the words of some old dead guy - 'I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.' "

He found the door chained from the outside, and with a quick and hard yank, tore not only the chain off, but also part of the door as well. Sunlight immediately streamed in, and automatically flinching at the sight, Angelus paused for only a second.

The last time he had faced Buffy, it had been an uneven match. She had been more powerful and resilient, that annoying mystical pregnancy of hers helping considerably. But this time would be different. Angelus had found a way to even the playing fields now. With a smirk on his face, and the Gem of Amara gleaming brightly on his ring finger, Angelus stepped into the sunlight with anticipation.

. . . _And miles to go before I sleep._

--

"You never know until you're tested."

- Doyle, "Hero."

_Intermission_


	13. One or the Other

Author's note:

_Warning_: Angst ahead. Please be forewarned. It's neccessary, in order to remain faithful to the show, that I do some angst. So sorry. I don't like it much myself, but alas, I'm only borrowing/ripping-off Joss's stuff, and the boy likes angst! Don't believe me? Tell it to someone who hasn't witnessed the Buffy-Spike, Buffy-Angel, Angel-Darla, Angel-Cordelia, Cordelia-Wesley, Cordelia-Doyle, Cordelia-Xander, Xander-Willow, Willow-Oz, Willow-Tara, Gunn-Fred, Wesley-Fred merry-go-round o'love. (I'm sure I've missed several ships, but you get my ever-so-subtle point, right? Angst is major to the Jossverse. That and, apparently, the word monogamous is not in Joss's vocabulary.)

Anyway, this chapter is Angst-o-rama (admittedly not one of my strong suits). Please bare with me through this painful process that helps me grow as a writer. Apologises and gratitude all around, in advance.

In this chapter, you will come across an (-) symbol while reading. I will be discussing a certain moment in Angel, Season Four, Episode Awakening. I refer to a subtle thing in this episode and my friend who read this, originally thought I was making it up. I am not. The thing I am referring to (you'll see when you read) actually happened on the show. So, when you see the (-) symbol, for suspicious readers that believe I'm making this stuff up, please see Angel tv transcripts for proof that I am not. It actually happened on the show, people. Just read any transcript of the episode online. (I'd imput a link here to save you the trouble, but fanfic . net is not letting me paste it on.)

Anyway, that and I forgot to disclaim a poem line I used in the last chapter - "I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep." - Frost, _Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening_. It's a great poem (read it, people. _hint, hint_.), and I used it as the last line in Angelus's POV, without disclaiming it. Sorry, Frost - no disrespect intended.

P.S. Next chapter will be better, I promise. (I hate angst.) Okay, now that I have considerably lowered expectations, without further delay ladies and gentlemen, I give you chapter 13 of Survivors, entitled 'Confessions of a angsty mind,' . . .er, actualy it's 'One or the Other.' Whatever.

Onto the show . . .

--

"The Nyazian Scrolls."

Angel's head shot up, eyes connecting with Wesley's in surprise. Immediately those words conjured up other words - haunting words. 'There will be no birth.' The Nyasian Scrolls was the very same prophecy that had foretold of Connor's birth and Darla's death. To Angel, it was second only to 'The Father Will Kill the Son' in the sucky-and-misleading-prophecy contest.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"The Nyazian Scrolls," Wesley repeated, entering Angel's office casually.

Angel stared at him as he entered, silently gathering his own thoughts. If Wesley mentioned the scrolls, it could only mean one thing. His annoyingly studious friend was on the search for it's ominous prophecy. The poetic irony of it all was that Wesley had already found the text, only that happened in a lifetime that was for all intents and purposes, forgotten and erased. Wesley had already been down this road once before with Darla and Connor, but Angel was the only one here that knew that.

Wesley sat down. "As you know, I've started some rudimentary searches through the firm's archives for any possible references to Buffy and her baby."

"Yeah," Angel replied, feigning nonchalance.

He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was heading, and didn't particularly feel up to it at all. At least, not after just seeing Connor. Angel had long ago resigned himself to the thought of losing his only son, but yesterday, seeing Connor smiling and carefree, had been a whole new type of torture. Because while seeing Connor had on one hand been fantastic and exhilarating, on the other hand, Angel was once again forced to covet something he could never have. A happy son.

The only thing that upset him more was the thought that his son was coming back. Connor was coming here to work at Wolfram and Hart. If that wasn't a recipe for disaster, he didn't know what was.

Wesley cleared his throat. "Angel, are you okay? You seem a bit distracted."

"I'm fine," Angel answered, quickly. "What were you saying?"

"Right, well . . ." Wesley began, "I was just talking about my research. It's hit a dead end in regards to one particular text. The Nyazian Scrolls. They seem to be a slippery little prophecy. More so than regular."

Angel tried to play it cool, giving Wesley a look that clearly said 'And what the hell am I suppose to do about it?' Truth was, however, he had everything to do with it. It was Angel's doing that the Nyazian Scrolls were so slippery. He had done everything in his considerable power to dispose of the Scrolls from Wolfram and Hart's achives and practically erase it from all sources.

The last thing Angel needed was for Wesley to get wind of the Scrolls again. He would no doubt think the phrase 'there will be no birth' referred to Buffy and her unborn child instead of to Darla and Connor. And while, if the Conduit was right and they all were destined to share the same fate in the end, Angel still didn't need that can of flesh-eating worms opening. He fully intended to save Buffy from meeting the same dusty fate as Darla.

He'd make sure that there was a birth this time. Buffy would live and be happy with her child, just like she deserved. Without hesitation, he would stake his life to make sure that happened. And that would soon make the Nyazian Scrolls as about as foretelling as a cheap fortune cookie. Thus, there was no need for Wesley to see them.

Now, the trick was, how did he convince Wesley of that fact?

"I was wondering if you had any suggestions on where I could find these Scrolls," Wesley said.

"Me? Why would I know anything about it?"

"You're over two hundred years old," Wesley reasoned. "Perhaps it's come up in a conversation once or twice?"

Angel played dumb. "I don't know, Wes. You try all the firm's contacts? See if they have an idea where you can find this . . ."

He left the sentence hanging, as if he'd forgotten the name, and Wesley fell for it, supplying the answer. "Nyazian Scrolls."

"Right. Nyazian Scrolls," Angel replied, clearing his throat. "I'm sure the firm knows people who could get it for you."

"I've tried that." Wesley replied, dejected. "Several times over, in fact. No one seems to be able to help me with this. I'm starting to think someone out there doesn't want me to find it."

"Maybe you should take the hint, then," Angel responded, tersely.

Wesley gave him a surprised look. "What?"

Angel sighed, immediately retracting. "Nothing. I'm just tired."

Wesley eyed him, curiously. "Anyway, there are several other possibilities that I have to check into. I'm actually expecting several prominent texts to be flown into L.A. within the next few days. Those seem to be very promising. They're not the Nyazian Scrolls, but still . . ."

Angel paused, eyeing him back. "Prominent texts? You mean other prophecies?"

Wesley nodded. "Gushandi, Baldweni. Even the fabled Korn'ell text. All famous for their accurate foretellings of the future. I'm quite excited to get my hands on such rare items."

Angel shifted, his nonchalance quickly hardening into something else entirely. The thought of Wesley in possession of more prophecies . . . to put it mildly, it didn't sit well with him. Because a part of Angel, no matter how much of that water was under a forgotten bridge, a part of him had never forgiven Wesley.

He had betrayed Angel. All things in the end, even after everything that had happened between them, Angel couldn't forget that fact. Especially with Connor's visit yesterday. Wesley's error in reading and trusting a prophecy had ultimately lead to him losing a son. And while Connor was happy and carefree, if yesterday was anything to judge by, it still cut Angel deeply to lose one of the most precious things in his life. Wesley had caused that. Even with the best of intentions, Wesley had betrayed and hurt him in a way few others had managed to do.

And it had all started with a prophecy, too.

_The Father Will Kill the Son._

"You know, Wes, I don't get this obsession of yours."

Wesley looked confused, "Pardon me?"

"These damn prophecies," Angel snapped. "They're never any use. All they do is talk about the bad stuff that no one can prevent. What good is that? Tell me, Wes, cause I'd like to know. What fool ever thought that a prophecy was a good thing to have?"

"Well . . . I imagine it's the same fool that believes in hope," Wesley countered. "Hope to change the future for the better. Not everything is set in stone, Angel."

"Yeah, but some things are. No matter how much you want it to be otherwise."

Wesley paused, searching for words. "I guess . . . I guess I play the fool in this scenario, then."

Angel shook his head, tiredly. "Is there anything else?"

"Actually–"

"–Cause I'm really tired, Wes. The sun's almost set, and it's been a long day. You understand."

Wesley paused, an inner debate waging. "Actually . . . There is something rather important and I've delayed it long enough. I needed to talk to you about Buffy."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "What about Buffy?"

Wesley cleared his throat, hesitantly. "I know that this is the last thing you want to think about, but . . . I have concerns about Buffy's loyalties. Her soul is precarious, at best--"

"Wes," Angel interrupted, in a fierce whisper. "Don't even go there. I'm not having this conversation with you."

Wesley didn't back down. "I'm sorry, but we have to at least consider the possibility."

"That what, Buffy's evil? She's not, Wes. You heard Cordelia."

"Yes, I have. Have you, Angel? Because from what Cordelia told us, Buffy is not to be underestimated. She decimated nearly a quarter of California in her home-world."

"She has a soul now," Angel countered, shortly. "It's different."

"Fine. It's different." Wesley replied, softly. "But ignoring the fact that the soul isn't hers, and therefore has an unsettling influence over her--"

"A soul is a soul, Wes. It make's no difference if it's not hers."

Wesley reprimanded him, "You, of all people, should know better than that."

"I do. I know what matters. She's not a killer anymore, Wes. That matters."

"Fine, you're right," Wesley conceded. "But have you considered about how long this fortunate situation will last? From the moment it was conceived, the babies' influence was on a stop watch. Nine months. You have to face the truth, Angel."

"Not right now, I don't," Angel replied, dryly. "I've got problems coming out my ears right now. We'll have this talk at another time."

Wesley's eyes looked sympathetic, not that Angel cared. "Angel, . . . when this child is born, Buffy will revert back into her soulless form."

"Dammit, Wes!" Angel said, slamming his hand down onto the table in frustration. "I told you I didn't want to have this conversation right now! But yet here you are, lips moving."

"I'm only saying what needs to be said," Wesley replied. "Buffy has the promise of becoming your greatest nightmare. You can't close your eyes to that."

No, Angel silently rebuked, his greatest nightmare featured Buffy dying during labor. Not that he could tell Wes that. God, he wished he could tell Wes that, so he could have some help with stopping it. But that would mean also telling him about Darla and Connor, and that was a conversation Angel wanted to avoid at nearly all costs.

"You've never been any good at running away, Angel," Wesley responded. "Why start now?

Angel shook his head in aggravation. "Because it's Buffy . . . I was always eerily good at running away when it came to her."

Wesley sighed in sympathy, "I know you've always had a blind spot for her, but–"

"What the hell do you want me to do, Wes?" Angel asked, frustrated. "Just stake her now and get it over with? Save the world the headache?"

Wesley looked him in the eye, slightly insulted. "I'm not saying to kill her, Angel. I'm just saying you need to be prepared. You need to think. What do you plan on doing about this?"

"I don't know. I don't have a plan, okay?"

"Forgive me for stating the obvious, but that's a problem," Wesley reasoned, evenly. "We need to get a plan, and that's what the rest of us are here for. We're a team, Angel. We just have . . . we have to work together and discuss the problem. Not hide from it. Otherwise, we'll be grasping at straws soon."

Angel took a calming breath, and hated to admit to himself that Wesley was making too much sense to be ignored. "Why can't we just . . . The Conduit, she said something earlier. She mentioned something about the Hawkerites' First Law of Spiritualism. She said we couldn't re-ensoul Buffy because of it."

Wesley sighed, "I had feared that, yes."

"Why? Why can't we curse her or send her off to Africa like Spike?"

"Because . . . Hawkerites' First Law is an all-inclusive constant. It states that everything in the Universe, that is living, has a soul. And only in death will that soul be released into that universe unbound by it's mortal shell."

Angel gave him a blank look. "And? So? But? Therefore?"

Wesley paused, gathering his thoughts. "The problem with Buffy is that she didn't die in this universe. Unlike you or Spike, or any other vampire in this world for that matter, Buffy's soul isn't in the same reality of existence as she is. When she came to this alternate universe, she left her soul moving freely in her home-world. It's inaccessible to us now."

Angel closed his eyes in realization. "And if we can't get to the soul, than we can't put it back into her, right?"

"Yes," Wesley replied, softly. "The situation parallels what happened to you last year with Angelus. When we lost the Muo-Ping container that held your soul, we were unable to curse you again."

"But Willow was able to locate my soul."

"Yes, but she did so only because the soul was still in this universe. I don't think even Willow, as powerful as she is, can reach across an infinite number of universes to find the one rare, distinct soul belonging to this particular Buffy."

"So . . ."

"So . . . we can't resoul her, Angel. I'm sorry, but it's just not possible."

Angel closed his eyes, painfully. "I can't just let her become a soulless vampire again, Wes. We have to do something."

"We'll get people working on it. We'll find a way to . . . I don't know. We'll do something, Angel."

"Something isn't good enough, Wes. This is Buffy we're talking about."

Wesley nodded. "I know you care about her, but you still need to think clearly. We can't afford otherwise."

"Think clearly?" Angel repeated, incredulous. "How the hell am I suppose to do that, Wes? How the hell would you do that if this was Fred we were talking about?"

Wesley paused, face whitening. "Touche."

Angel sighed, "I know what's going through her head right now, Wes. I've been there. All that guilt is bad enough, but to tell her she's going to revert back into _that thing _and there's nothing we can do about it . . . It'll kill her. It'll eat away at her until there's nothing left."

"Then we'll give her hope," Wesley said, smiling slightly. "A fool's hope, maybe. But hope, nonetheless."

Angel nodded, starting to look determined. "And I can help her get through this."

"I daresay better than anybody else alive," Wesley noted. "But--"

"–she deserves rest and happiness, Wes, and I'll be damned if I don't help her get that. There's no 'but' about it."

Wesley shifted in his seat. "You still love her, don't you?"

Angel looked up at Wesley. The answer to that question had always been an unequivocal yes, since the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. Unfortunately, it had always been a complicated yes. Because even though he had loved her in a way he had never loved anybody else, he knew he was always destined to hurt her. It was cruelly ironic that his only true moments of happiness in life were always centered around her, yet also lead directly to her pain.

On her seventeenth birthday, where he tasted true bliss for the first time. Angelus had emerged and well . . . the rest was history. The end result had turned out to be something more twisted than Romeo and Juliet. Then, there was the Forgotten Day the Oracles had erased, perhaps the most beautiful and painful 24 hours of his entire existence. A day of humanity with Buffy . . . A dream come true which had ended with her crying in his arms, heartbroken.

Yeah, he really knew how to woo a girl, didn't he?

Hell, the only exception was when the Shaman had removed his soul last year. And even there, his mind had created the perfect day scenario which had climaxed with Buffy's name on his lips. (-)Throughout his fantasy day, he was surrounded by Wesley, Connor, and Cordelia in a weird Indiana Jones illusion . . . but his moment of true happiness, even after all these years, still involved Buffy. A small amount of guilt welled up every time he thought about it, because even though in his mind's eye, he had been in bed with Cordelia, it was the thought of Buffy that had laid claim to his soul and released it. It was with the utterance of her name that he had achieved true happiness.(-)

He flinched at the implications of that thought. At a time when he felt the most for Cordelia, in the midst of all that chaos last year, he dreamed of his perfect moment with Cordelia. And it had still climaxed with Buffy's name on his lips.

He sighed, feeling a headache coming on. He loved Cordelia. He really did. She was his best friend and confidant. A strong friendship had grown between them and in many, many ways she knew him better than anybody else, Buffy included. But any time they had tried to take their friendship to the next level, chaos had inevitably ensued. It wasn't her fault. It was just the way it always turned out. With ex-lovers, Groosalugs, visions, Connor, evil maggoty faced goddesses, and ultimately a fatal coma, that love story had ended before it had ever really begun.

If it was anybody's fault, it was his. Angel was the one with the doomed existence. He was the one that was cursed to suffer a lifetime of misery. And he was following through with that pretty damn well, wasn't he?

His curse. What exactly had he been thinking when he first thought of Cordelia as a potential love? He should have been too old and experienced to fall for love again, but apparently he was the type to stick his tongue on a frozen flagpole. Twice. After everything Buffy had taught him, he should have learned his lessons on love. But no, he tried again. What did he expect? That the curse would suddenly nullify simply because he had changed partners?

. . . Yet, a part of him did buy into that theory.

Angel had thought long and hard about this in the months of Cordelia's coma. He had sat, pondered, and questioned his own actions and thoughts of the last three years. Why had he thought being in a relationship with Cordelia would not meet the same bloody end as his relationship with Buffy? It's not like the curse had changed. The same fundamental circumstances still applied.

In the end, Angel slowly realized the truth. He felt safe starting an intimate relationship with Cordelia because he still felt safe about his curse around her. It wasn't like with Buffy, whom he'd always guarded himself against - where in fact, it got so intense that he had to leave her and Sunnydale behind. With Cordelia, the curse was almost . . . subtle. It wasn't the alarming issue it was with Buffy. Cordelia provided a safe and content avenue of happiness, because his love for her was born out of friendship instead that intense-passionate-whatever-the-hell-you-call-that-dangerous-fire type of love that he had for Buffy.

Cordelia helped him evolve from someone who wanted to save humanity to a person who became part of humanity. Buffy was different. Buffy was the woman that gave him purpose in his life. In over 240 years, no one had ever affected his life as much as she did. Like he once told Willow, he spent a hundred years, just hanging out, feelin' guilty . . . Then she came along.

The two women couldn't be more different, including the way in which they affected him. One was his strongest confidant, nurturing and helpful in a way that belied Cordelia's crass exterior. And the other . . . forced him to be a better man. Buffy forced him to strive for the impossible, all in the hopes of savoring more of that sweet perfection he'd only tasted a morsel of.

Ultimately, one was destined to remain his best friend and the other his lover. When compared side by side, the distinctions became as clear as daylight. He loved these women more than life itself, just in different ways.

Wesley sighed, drawing his attention. "I've never seen anyone brood like you do, Angel. It must get tiring."

Angel shrugged, morosely. "It's a curse."

"That, it is," Wesley agreed. "But whatever you're thinking, perhaps its time to share it with those two women out there? They deserve to know."

Angel laughed, without mirth. "Oh, no. No. no, no, no. That's a horrible idea."

"Why?"

"Because," Angel said, as if it was obvious, "it'll be painful."

"To who? You?"

"To everybody. How am I suppose to tell . . . how am I suppose to tell Cordelia that I just want to be friends? Nothing more, and please God, nothing less."

"I don't know. But if that's how you truly feel, than she deserves to know that."

"Great advice, Wes. It's easy for you to say that, but I'm the one that actually has to have the conversation. Got anymore bright ideas? As a matter of fact, maybe you could tell me how to talk to Buffy, too. Because I'm not sure how to tell her . . . I don't want to be friends with her."

"You don't want to be friends with her?" Wesley repeated. "Isn't that a bit harsh?"

"You don't understand, I can't be friends with her!" Angel snapped, "Cordelia can be my friend. She can be my best friend. But not Buffy. She's . . . I don't know . . . different. It's just the way it is. I tried having a civil, platonic conversation with her last night outside the diner, it was like pulling teeth. It ended, shock of all shockers, in a melodramatic cesspool."

"You know, I don't know how you do it, Angel," Wesley said, unable to conceal his mirth. "For a man who technically can't get any, you really do have a troubling love life."

"Oh, that's right. Make fun of the melodramatic freak of a vampire. That'll help . . ."

--

Neither Angel nor Wesley realized the fact that Cordelia and Buffy were standing outside their doorway, having listened to the entire conversation. What had begun as 'innocent' eavesdropping in regards to Wesley's search for a prophecy had taken an unexpected and an entirely unwelcome turn for them.

Cordelia stood there silently, feeling like what could be generously compared to a kicked puppy.

_How am I suppose to tell . . . how am I suppose to tell Cordelia that I just want to be friends? Nothing more, and please God, nothing less._

He just did. A part of her, through the haze of pain and embarrassment that ensued, also felt a touch of relief. Thank God she'd chickened out of following through on Spike's advice yesterday. If she had confessed her feelings to Angel, like Spike had told her to, she would had to face him while listening to those words.

_. . . Friends . . . Nothing more . . . Nothing less._

How much mind numbing fun would that have been? Cordelia thought, upset.

Sighing, she quickly turned and walked away, keenly aware that Buffy was soon following her footsteps. For once, Cordelia was really not in the mood to face her and just wanted to somehow, someway, distance herself from the pregnant blonde.

"Cordelia . . ." Buffy began, awkwardly.

Cordelia cleared her throat. "Buffy, don't."

"Hey, at least you get to be friends," Buffy replied, trying to sound casual. "He doesn't even want to be that much with me."

Cordelia stopped and whirled around, suddenly very annoyed. "He doesn't want to be friends with you, because you guys are more than friends!! God, Buffy. Get a freakin' clue."

"Hey, don't get snappy with me! I know how you feel about Angel, but I didn't--"

"Stop!" Cordelia interrupted heatedly, her stomach twisted into a thousands knots as a sickening realization dawned on her.

It hit her like a train.

This entire event seemed way too familiar for her liking. Oh god, she was doing it again, wasn't she? She was angry with Angel and now she was taking it out on Buffy. Next thing you know, Cordelia thought in sickness, she was going to get drunk at a bar with a vengeance demon!!

"Cordelia, are you alright?" Buffy asked, suddenly concerned. "You look pale."

Cordelia didn't meet her eyes at all. It was a situation like this, after all, that was what had caused this entire-nightmare-scenario-that-was-her-life to begin with. It was situation like this that had lead to The Wish. You think a girl would learn!

"Cordelia, you with me?" Buffy asked, worried.

Cordelia cleared her throat, recovering herself before Buffy became too suspicious. "I could blame this all on you again. I could explode at you right now with explicatives that could boggle the mind of even Spike. I could even go and tear a new hole in Angel's stuck-up-lets-just-be-friend's ass, but I'm learning from my past mistakes. Let's just leave it at that, okay?"

"Okay," Buffy replied, slightly bewildered.

"Good," Cordelia said, numbly. "Now, I just need to cool off before I say something I'll regret. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," Buffy agreed, eventually.

"This involves me leaving, and you not following. Clear?"

"Crystal."

"Then let's clear up some other things, too," Cordelia said, firmly. "The next time we see each other, we don't mention this entire event. It never happened--"

"Wait, Cordelia--"

"--I mean it, Buffy. We never overheard Angel and Wesley talking, and we never had this conversation. As far as I'm concerned, this moment in time is going into a black void. Alright?"

Buffy sighed, "Fine . . . but before we rip a tear in the space-time continuum to erase this conversation we supposedly never had, can I just say something?"

Cordelia hesitated for a moment. "Alright, but make it quick. I have major repressing to do."

Buffy's demeanor softened instantly. "You're the best friend I ever had, Cordelia. You have no idea how important our friendship is to me, because if it wasn't for you, I know I wouldn't have lasted this long. I'm not going to let any guy - including Angel - get between us. I simply won't allow it."

At another time, Cordelia would have responded with a witty remark. In fact, one was on the edge of her lips. But then she realized something . . . Buffy was right. It seemed, in almost all regards, her relationship with Buffy was on unshakable ground. Nothing could budge it . . .

Angel was the exception.

He was the one major thing they had in common, and the one thing that they avoided talking about like the plague. The other stuff built a strong foundation for friendship, but their similar feelings for Angel, it seemed, was the major cinch in their armor.

Hearing Angel's words today hurt like hell, but the last thing she wanted was for that to affect her friendship with Buffy. It rankled the independent woman inside of her to realize that the only thing that had the power to bring down this friendship - the strongest friendship she ever had - was a guy. Even if that guy was Angel.

"I mean it, Cordelia. If I have to hit you upside the head a couple of times to get that notion through your head, so be it. I'll be hitting you every ten seconds. I am not losing you over some guy."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Of that, I have no doubt. Who would you bicker with when you're bored? Angel wouldn't last five minutes."

"I'm not interested in Angel."

Cordelia rolled her eyes at that, not buying it for one second . . . . _God, this was turning out to be crappy day_.

Buffy tried again. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about this? I don't want to leave it like this."

Cordelia flinched at the prospect. "No, not really. I'd rather have my teeth pulled out . . . or a lobotomy, whatever."

Buffy sighed, knowing Cordelia too well. "Fine, I'm fully willing to never bring up this conversation with you, ever again. In fact, I can already feel some fast-forming amnesia coming on right now."

Cordelia sighed, grateful that Buffy understood. "Good . . . but one more thing, Buffy."

"What?" Buffy asked, wearily. "Be forewarned: if you're gonna insult me right now, I'm rescinding everything I just said. Except the hitting-you-upside-the-head part."

She smirked, "No, it's not that. It's just . . . you're the best friend I ever had, too."

She quickly turned away from Buffy without waiting for a response, passing by dozens of people without a glance backwards. She didn't want to do the whole mushy thing right now, but she wanted Buffy to know the truth. She was her best friend.

Making a beeline for the stairs, she hurried up towards the rooftop. She needed to get away from the masses of Wolfram and Hart employees. She needed to get _far_ away from Angel. But most of all, she needed someplace where she could be by herself and think. Before she knew it, she was out on the rooftop of Wolfram and Hart. The beautiful thing about this was, since the sun was still up for another couple of minutes, no vampires could sneak up on her here.

The cold evening air hit her like a splash of water and rubbing her arms for warmth, it took a moment before she realized something about this spot felt . . . _off_.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Cordelia whipped around to find a strangely dressed man leaning against the rafters of the building. She hadn't heard the door open or close, so she guessed he must have been standing in the shadows long before she came up. Looking closer at his cloths, she could see why. With a wide-brimmed hat that clashed horrible with his - ugh - tiger print jacket, the man had the same fashion sense born to Doyle. Not of the good.

Dammit, people! One minute alone. Is that too much to ask?

"The view," he said, nodding his head toward the sight that overlooked the expanse of Los Angelus. "Beautiful, isn't it? I'm not much into the whole beauty of the nature thing, but sometimes . . . damn, it sure is a sight to see."

Cordelia eyed him wearily. "Who the hell are you? Besides badly-dressed-creepy-guy-that-stalks-in-the-shadows."

He sighed. "What is it with you Sunnydale people? The first ten words out of your mouth are always about my clothes."

"Sunnydale people?" She repeated.

"Angel. Buffy. We go way back."

"From the seventies?" Cordelia asked, dryly. "Cause that shirt? It screams Disco Fever."

He rolled his eyes. "Laugh it up, Princess, but I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I didn't come here to talk fashion--"

"--Lucky me," Cordelia mused, tiredly.

"– but we're in the same business, you and me. We work for the same people and I'm here to deliver a message."

Cordelia let her confusion show. "I'm currently in between being a famous movie star and glorified secretary. And I don't officially work for Wolfram and Hart, if that's what you mean. I don't have an employer."

"The PTB say otherwise."

Cordelia paused, surprised. "What did you say your name was?"

"Didn't," he responded, "But people nowadays call me Whistler."

"Whistler?" Cordelia repeated. "Wait a minute . . . I know that name. You're the same demon-y guy that helped Angel out, right? Back in his hygiene-optional days. I heard about you."

Whistler nodded. "That would be me. The big guy sure has moved up since then, eh? From sewers to skyscrapers. Oh, how the high and mighty have risen."

"What do you want?" Cordelia asked, tiredly.

"I already told you. I come bearing a whole lot of mumbo-jumbo from the PTB," Whistler replied. "It's something I do. Give out information and guidance when my charges need it. I'm like Yoda that way."

Cordelia turned annoyed. "Yeah, well. All the champions are one floor down, Yoda. Don't let the force hit you on your way out."

She turned away and looked out towards the sunset again, hoping Whistler would take the subtle hint and walk away. Unfortunately, her luck today wasn't that good. After a moment, Whistler came to stand by beside her.

Cordelia turned to face him. "No one's asking you to stick around. Go. Do your thing with somebody else and leave me alone."

"Can't. Got a job to do," Whistler replied. "You know how the PTB can be."

"Self-righteous, holier than thou, pain in the asses? Yeah, I know how they can be."

"Ouch. Spoken like someone who's got their number. It took me decades to build up that much resentment towards them."

"I was always a quick learner," she replied. "What is it that you want, Whistler?"

"Your help."

She laughed. "You know, one of these days I'm just going to tell the PTB where to stick their guidance. I don't need it. I was always better off without it."

"Sorry, kid. But it doesn't work that way," Whistler replied. "They're not guiding you, they're telling you. You're one of their flunkies. For now, anyway."

"Who you calling a flunky?" Cordelia responded, angrily. "I'm not a flunky! I work for them, yeah, but not as a--"

"You have visions because of them. You're half demon because of them. You're alive and in an alternate reality because of them. And even if it wasn't for all of that, you'd still be in their debt because you owe them big time."

"Owe them, for what?" Cordelia asked, outraged.

Whistler looked her in the eye. "The Wish."

And that's how this whole mess began. In tirade of drunkenness, a little over two years ago, Cordelia had spoken the most devastating words in her entire life. Words that had changed her life and the life of many others. Words, that in Cordelia's humble opinion, should be outlawed.

I wish . . .

Here's some basic advice: (One) - Alcohol is the devil's drink, so don't drink it in excess. Avoid it altogether, if you can. (Two) - Never run out on a fight between you and your 'significant other' without listening and talking things through, first. Otherwise, while you're angry, you might say or do things you'll later on regret. And (three) - if you ever choose to break rules one and two, then never under any circumstances proceed to confide about rule number two under the negative influence of rule number one with a complete stranger! Bitching about your 'significant other,' while drunk, to a person you don't know can only lead to more problems.

Especially if that stranger turned out to be a vengeance demon by the name of Anyanka, Patron Saint of Scorned Women!

_Dammit, I wish Buffy Summers knew what it was like to be Angel! I just wish she'd get the chance to understand–_

_--Done._

Even now, Cordelia couldn't tell you why she said it. It made no sense, and had very little connection to her current situation. But nursing a wounded heart after a particularly vicious fight with Angel, Cordelia had foolishly decided to get drunk. And since the topic of their argument had skirted around the issue of ex's, in this inebriated condition, Cordelia had come to the solid conclusion that Buffy was the cause of all her problems.

It was Buffy who had ruined Angel for any other relationship with all her excessive drama. It was Buffy, with all her woe-is-me crap, that crushed his heart. He never had a chance after her! She was the reason why Angel was a total commitment-phobe and refused to fully feel at ease with Cordelia!

Cordelia understood Angel in a way that Buffy never would! She knew him through the hard times, through the good times, through everything in between. Buffy had known none of that in their time together. So, why was it that Buffy's ghost was haunting her could-be relationship with Angel?!!

_Dammit, I wish Buffy Summers knew what it was like to be Angel! I just wish she'd get the chance to understand–_

_--Done._

Two years later, Cordelia saw the results of her wish. That bitch Anyanka really had a creative imagination. Buffy was now a repenting vampire, burdened with a soul. She had killed her family, her friends, and brought the type of destruction that every other Tom, Dick, and vampire was awed and terrified by. Buffy probably understood Angel now more than ever. She probably understood Angel in a way that Cordelia was glad she herself didn't.

Cordelia paused, all bluster going out of her at the thought. "Oh . . . You know about that?" Not even Buffy knew of the wish.

"Sweetheart, it's my business to know about that. I'm an immortal demon sent here to even the score between good and evil. And when one of the good guys ends up making a wish that sends two Champions to the dark side, it's something I like to know about."

Two Champions. It had turned Buffy evil, and Buffy had turned Angel into Angelus. That simple wish had triggered a sickening chain reaction that had ultimately forced Cordelia to flee that reality altogether. She was, much to her horror, the only one still left breathing after all those ensuing years.

Whistler paused, eyeing her. "Out of curiosity, why did you wish that? I mean, it's not exactly a normal wish. What's its point?"

She sighed. "I'm a lousy drunk. Six drinks and I was contemplating the lampshade as the perfect headgear accessory. At that point, I'm surprised I had the wits about me to remember Buffy's name."

"Yeah, most of Anyanka's patrons get drunk. Thing is, most of Anyanka's patrons don't make wishes that end up changing the fate of the universe. That was one helleva punch your wish packed."

"I didn't forget to pay my brain bill, you know. I managed to pick up on that little fact."

She didn't need someone else reminding her that, in one brief night, she had destroyed everything. In one night, she had chosen to get upset about a stupid fight. She had chosen to get drunk. She had chosen to say those words.

_Dammit, I wish Buffy Summers knew what it was like to be Angel! I just wish she'd get the chance to understand–_

_--Done._

Then, the next morning when she awoke with a pounding headache, it was to a world vastly different from her own. At first, she didn't notice the differences. She didn't notice the glaring tension in the air. But slowly, it dawned on her that something was way off. It nearly stopped her heart when she learned that the world she had grown up with had suddenly changed overnight because of one major difference. Buffy wasn't the slayer anymore, but a vampire. A world where half the people she knew in Sunnydale had been killed in the previous two months, and the other half destined to die, Cordelia felt like she was living _in_ a nightmare. LA was soon to follow in Sunnydale's footsteps.

That was the world she had helped create with a simple wish.

That made everything that happened in the last two years ultimately her fault. _Everything_. From Buffy being turned, to the killings, to Angelus reappearing . . . everything. It was all her fault because, for once, that big fat mouth of hers finally got her into real trouble.

"Look, I don't mean to guilt-trip you, kid. You were dealt a bad hand, but it's the character of a person that determines what they do with it. You pulled it together and--"

Cordelia hated being preached to. "What's your message, Whistler?"

He sighed in understanding. "If that's how you want to play it . . ."

"It is."

He casually went and grabbed his backpack off the ground. Unzipping it, he pulled out a weighty leather-bound book with heavily torn edges. Cordelia could see its age by its cloth covering and, as she had become an expert on such things over the years, realized it was another rare old book for the collection._ Yippee_.

"Tell your watcher boy to check this out," he said, handing it to her. "I think it has good news."

"About freakin' time," Cordelia groused. "Where'd it come from?"

"The words 'gift horse' mean anything to you?"

She sighed. "Fine, what does it say?"

"Don't know, really," Whistler replied, shrugging. "I was just told to drop off a present."

"Why are you giving this to me? Angel and Buffy - hell, even Spike is downstairs. Hand it to one of the Champions."

Whistler looked her in the eye, and pointedly replied, "That's kinda what I just did."

Cordelia looked up in surprise, "Wow, are you grading on a curve now? I'm a lot of things, but a champion isn't one of them."

"Not yet, anyway," Whistler answered. "But I gotta say, the PTB were impressed with you."

"Two seconds ago they were pissed that I had sent two champions to the dark side. Now they're so impressed with my resume, they're promoting me?"

"I never said pissed," Whistler backtracked. "The Higher Powers don't usually feel human emotions, like anger or happiness or even hungry, for that matter. They're too far removed from our type of living to feel stuff like that. But they were impressed in how you handled the situation."

"By situation," Cordelia said, slightly enraged, "do you mean the death and destruction of everyone I ever loved?"

"By situation," Whistler countered, pointedly, "I meant how you went out of your way to help Buffy survive when she was left high and dry."

"Guilt is wonderful motivator."

"Is that all it is, now?" Whistler replied, curious. "Maybe at the beginning it was, but now it's a whole new ball of wax and you know it . . . you should hear the talk around the water-cooler. You two have people buzzing with surprise. No one saw your friendship coming."

"Glad we make good entertainment," Cordelia responded, dryly. "But I helped Buffy out because I owed her, not to get into the good graces of the PTB."

"Still, they noticed," Whistler responded. "And I don't know what they have in store for you, but I think it's safe to say that you're moving up in the world. I wouldn't be surprised if you became a bonafide champion one of these days. You got the stuff cut out for it."

"My demon powers are mostly passive," Cordelia countered, suspiciously. "You need to have muscle to be a champion."

Whistler nodded, "Yeah, that's true . . . Still, it's some food for thought."

He turned to leave, and Cordelia found herself calling after him with a shout. "Hey, Whistler! . . . Can I ask you something?"

He turned around. "Free country."

"You're in the loop with all this. Is this . . . how's this going to turn out? In the end?"

He smiled. "Well, I've read the last page in the Bible. It's suppose to turn out alright, if that's what you mean."

Cordelia narrowed her eyes, unamused.

"Hey, I'm just the lowly messenger," Whistler responded, hands drawn up in surrender. "I don't know any more than you do . . . well, okay. Maybe I know a little bit more than you do . . . But still, most of the time, the message is complete gibberish to me. Some of the times, the PTB don't even know what the it means until after the fact. Fate does what it does, and we just try to predict it. Manipulate it in the subtleties. But the big things? They go down the way it was always meant to be."

"Is Buffy's child a big thing?" Cordelia asked, curious.

Whistler nodded. "This thing the PTB have set up, it's a delicate piece of work. One thread loosens, the entire thing comes undone. Your life, Buffy's life, everybody's life - it'll all be up for grabs. We're talking total chaos. Neither side wants that - not when both could lose everything in the process. This kid? She's the end result both sides want. She's the one thing everybody is banking on, because it's all about balance and she'll bring it. One way or another."

"She?" Cordelia repeated, "Buffy's going to have a girl?"

He grinned, "'Seven pounds, three ounces' is the predicted estimate. She's going to grow up to be a real heartbreaker, this one. And she's gonna have it real tough, too . . . But I guess the kid's lucky in one way."

"And what's that?" Cordelia asked, incredulous. "She isn't even born yet and already she's a front line soldier. If I were her, I'd be asking for my money back guarantee right about now."

He smiled, tipping his hat. "Well, look at it this way: At least she's got some good role models to follow after."

--

"A vampire working nine to five. When ironic jokes are that easy, it's just not worth it."

Buffy watched as Angel jumped slightly in surprise, having been unaware of her presence until she'd spoken up. A part of her was delighted to realize that she could sneak up on the Master of Stealth himself. She still remembered all those times when at one point he was there, then _wham_, he did a Houdini and was gone. Finally, he got a taste of his own medicine.

"More like nine to nine, anyway." Angel commented, recovering his cool. "Long days."

She walked across the room and started to ease her considerable mass onto a leather chair with the grace of a construction crane dropping tons of rubble onto the ground. Angel walked forward in an obvious attempt to help her, but Buffy glared at him sternly at the offensive gesture and he backed away quickly.

"I can bend steel with my bare hands and leap across buildings with a single bound. Well, okay - _a_ building." Buffy said, very much annoyed. "Point is, I can certainly sit down on my own without any help . . . it's the getting up part that's a real bitch. For that, I will humbly accept assistance."

Angel smirked, "I'll be happy to help. Do you need anything right now? Milk? Blood? Powerful sedatives?"

"Hold that last thought," Buffy answered, glibly. "But first we gotta talk."

"About what?"

"Well," Buffy mused, "we could make painful small talk that ends in me declaring ambiguous feelings for your evil alter ego, but gosh, we did that already."

Angel flinched, remembering the talk outside the diner as well as she did. "That didn't really go well, did it?"

"I've had root canals that were funner," Buffy agreed, "but I suppose it was necessary in a way."

"Really?" Angel asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah. It wasn't fun-time, or anything. But you needed to know I'm not the girl you knew in highschool . . . You _do_ get that, right? That I'm not the Buffy you know? I'm not the girl in Italy, whoever she is. My feelings, however ambivalent, towards Angelus just highlight one of the many ways how."

"I get it."

"Do you?" Buffy questioned, "Because sometimes I get the feeling that you still look at me and see the slayer you once knew and loved. I'm not that girl. I don't see the world in black and white anymore. It's all gray to me, now."

"That's the result of growing up, Buffy." Angel replied, reasonably. "Everybody does it."

"No, this particular view is the result of being evil for a couple of years." Buffy responded, firmly. "It gives my perspective some uniqueness, I think. I mean, don't get me wrong. I gotta soul now, so I can differentiate between good and evil most of the time. So, woo-hoo! But the thing is . . . the demon is still in me, you know?"

Angel watched her, eyes filled with understanding. "I know. Trust me, I know all about that. I could write a book."

Buffy smiled, humorless. "Yeah, well. I guess that brings me to the reason I came in here. I wanted to tell you that Wesley was absolutely right and you should listen to him."

"Wesley's a smart guy," Angel replied, raising an eyebrow at the change in topic. "He's right about a lot of things. Which thing are you talking about?"

"That you're a poopy-head." Buffy replied, matter-of-factly.

Angel paused for a beat. "Poopy-head? That doesn't sound like something Wesley would say."

Buffy nodded, "You're right. I'm using Scooby-speak here. Wesley would probably say something British-y, like you're a pillock."

Angel looked confused, "Okay. Can I ask, why am I a . . . ?"

Buffy sensed his hesitation, "Pillock or poopy-head, I'll let you decide."

Angel glared, "Fine, why am I a . . . _pillock_?"

Buffy looked amused, "I should have _so_ recorded that for Spike. He would have--"

"Buffy . . ." Angel warned.

"Sorry, sorry."

He sighed, aggravated, "Why are you calling me . . . any and all rude names beginning with the letter P."

"Cause you're sticking your head so far up your ass, I'm surprised you can still see daylight. Thus, your nickname is appropriately christened poopy-head. Or pillock. Whatever."

Angel paused, opening his mouth, closing it, then trying again. "I'm not gonna like this conversation, am I?"

"I don't think so," Buffy answered, "Good news is, I also don't care. I wanted to talk to you about Hawkerites' First Law of Spiritualism."

Angel's head shot up in surprise for the second time in so many minutes. Buffy guessed she was really getting better at shocking people lately. She either shocked them into silence or caused a ruckus . . . And that's a word that doesn't get used enough these days. Ruckus. Say it with me, people - ruckus.

"You were spying in on my conversation with Wesley." Angel accused.

"Spying is a harsh term . . . Admittedly accurate, but harsh."

Angel glared at her, slightly irritated. "That was a private conversation, Buffy."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "Oh, that's rich coming from a guy that use to stalk me from the shadows during highschool."

"That wasn't stalking," Angel defended himself, then faltered. "Well, okay. When I was evil, yes, I suppose that was considered stalking. But otherwise, it was more . . . _observing from a distance_. And the 'shadows' part was simply a byproduct of me not wanting to burst into flames."

"Observing from a distance? What am I, a wild specimen?" Buffy replied, annoyed. "When you weren't evil, we were dating. You could have just come up and said hello, you know."

"It wasn't my style."

"Right, cause that would have ruined your cool, mysterious aura. Can I say, glad that you're over that stage in your life."

Angel sighed, aggravated. "How much of the conversation did you overhear?"

"Enough to know that you're not dealing with everything as well as you should--"

"I'm dealing! I'm a dealer!" he cut in, offended.

"I'm going to loss my soul, Angel." Buffy replied, seriously. "This demon is in me now, but I've gotta soul, too. Problem is, only one of them is permanent."

A look of determination settled onto his features, "You're not going to loss your soul, Buffy."

"See? Not dealing."

"I'm serious, Buffy."

"That's what bothers me." Buffy said, smiling sadly. "We both heard Wesley, Angel. I don't pretend to be a smart as him on this, but he used small enough words. Once I give birth, I'll be needing my own soul then. But my soul isn't in this plane of existence. We can't get to it. And if we can't get to it, then we can't re-ensoul me–"

"We will," Angel refuted, "We just haven't figured out the how, yet."

She patted her swelling tummy, "Angel, I'm a time bomb about to go off."

"You still have nearly six weeks left, Buffy. That's plenty of time."

Buffy sighed, "Plenty of time . . . _Right_."

Funny, it didn't feel that way.

She always knew this was going to happen. She had been fully aware that when the time came for birth, she'd be left soulless. Unfortunately, most of the past seven and a half months required attention to be focused on other issues - like immediate survival. She always put off thinking about it in the hopes that when things calmed down and the time was right, she'd have the opportunity to figure out a way to stay all soul-having. Now, months had gone by and all of a sudden there was only six weeks left till she had to give birth.

Six weeks!

In cat years, that was like two days!

And now, apparently, Wesley had given her the worst imaginable news of all. She was going to revert back into a soulless vampire and there was no curse that could redeem her. No soul to be kept. Upon hearing the news, she had felt like a woman drowning, futilely gasping for air, all the while knowing with a certain clarity that death was just moments away. Except this was a punishment worse than death. _She_ was going to be worse than death.

Having been through this before, she knew exactly what would happen when she lost the soul. Once again, she was going to be a cold blooded killer, and there was nothing any one could do about it - short of staking her. The thought of turning into a soulless creature once again . . . Oh God, it was too horrible to think about. What chaos was she going to cause now? Who was going to stop her? What was going to happen to her baby?

Oh, god. Buffy thought sickened, _the baby was going to need protection from her._

. Buffy thought sickened, 

"Buffy?" Angel said, voice laced with concern.

He must have seen something on her face that gave away her thoughts because within a second he had crossed the room and was kneeling beside her chair. Holding her cold hand in his even colder hands, he squeezed it in reassurance. It wasn't until she saw the concern in his eyes that she realized her eyes were blurry with unshed tears.

Dammit, stupid hormones!

"It's alright, Buffy." he comforted, soothingly. "Everything's going to be alright. I won't let anything happen to you."

Buffy turned away so he couldn't see her face. "I don't want to be soulless, Angel. Not again."

He placed a hand on the side of her face and forced her to look back at him. "You won't, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she chided, half-heartedly. "You don't know what's going to happen anymore than I do."

Angel paused for a moment, "I've got an idea, and I've got a lot of help. You're not in this alone."

Buffy felt herself going cold. "I wasn't alone the last time, either. I had the Scoobies. Willow even tried to curse me when I was first turned. They all loved me so much. You wanna know what I did in response? I ripped out her heart. I called it_ constructive criticism_."

"Buffy, I know you feel guilty--"

"Well," Buffy whispered, upset. "Guilt is a funny side-effect of being held responsible for all the bad stuff that's happened."

Angel sighed, and tried to lighten the mood. "Everything that happened recently, or everything that's happened ever? Cause I think you've pretty much been cleared of any responsibility in the fall of the Roman Empire and the Titanic. But Richard Simmon's career, we're still looking into that one."

Buffy wasn't amused, "I killed them all, Angel. I remember it like it was yesterday. A part of me even _enjoys_ the memory . . . Xander didn't fight me, you know. When I killed him, there wasn't a spot of adrenaline in his blood. He just accepted it, because I had taken away everything important in his life. He told me all his best friends were dead, and he didn't want to miss the party."

Damn him for not fighting back.

"Look, Buffy. I know all about guilt. I spent a century spreading bloodshed over three continents. And it all began with the night I killed my family, including my little sister who thought the world of me. I know all about feeling guilty and you can't let it rule you."

"Says the guy who spent the _next _century feeling so guilty about it, he crawled into a hole and waited to die." Buffy replied, "I don't know about you, Angel, but I _need_ this guilt. Because if I feel it, I know I'm doing something right. It's when I stop feeling guilty that the entirety of California suddenly finds itself in jeopardy."

"It's confusing at first." Angel said, "I know. I remember. The sound of a heartbeat, passing by. The scent of fear and despair, seducing you. Millions of people just walking by, begging to be killed. It's all chaotic and confusing, and you don't know what's right or wrong. You don't know how to act or what to do. So you rely on guilt. You live off of it . . . Am I getting warm, here?"

"Yes." Buffy admitted, reluctantly. He was a little too close for comfort, actually.

"That's what having a soul is all about. You never get ride of that feeling, but you can't let it be your entire life. You're right, I did spend a century locked in pain. You wanna know what set me free?"

"What?"

"You did." Angel answered, "You taught me that there was more to life than death. That life wasn't all about guilt. There was beauty, tenderness . . . _love_ in the world so bright it blinded everything else."

Buffy suddenly couldn't seem to find her voice.

Angel looked away, dropping the intensity down just a notch. "Buffy . . . This kid will help you do the same. I'll make sure of that."

"You will?"

"Yes."

"And what if I go evil? What if I don't even remember why I love this baby?"

"That won't happen."

Buffy paused, eyes hardening. She pushed completely away from any vulnerability she may have been feeling and faced him with her most stoic expression. Hard. Emotionless. Some would say, terrifying. It was the expression she used when going into battle. It was an expression she used when she was _dead_ serious.

"You wanna make promises, Angel? Then promise me something."

"What?" He asked, cautiously.

He must have recognized the expression.

"Promise me that if I loss my soul, you'll kill me the first chance you get."

At first, Angel didn't answer. He didn't even move. Then, slowly, a look of frustration and anger settled onto his face and he got up and turned away, putting several feet of distance between them.

"No," he replied, firmly. "I told you, it won't come to that."

Buffy sighed, "I was expecting that response. I was hoping I was wrong, but no. You really are as thick-headed as you look, sometimes."

"Don't joke about this, Buffy." Angel reproached, a bit angrily. "Joke about everything else, but not about this."

"You think I find this funny?" Buffy asked, incredulous. "You think I'm _laughing_ about this? This is my life, Angel. My hell. You don't need to remind me that it's not funny. I picked up on that fact all by myself. But it's either make a joke out of it or go the way of Norman Bates!"

Angel sighed, "You have to trust me, Buffy. I'll help you survive this. You just have to give me the chance."

"I know you're gonna try your best to get me back my soul, but I also need to know that you'll . . . try your best no matter what the situation calls for. If I get in touch with my inner-demon, I need to know that you'll make sure I don't hurt anybody else."

"That I'll try my best at killing you, you mean?"

Buffy nodded, slowly. "I know exactly what I'm asking you to do, Angel. I did the same thing in highschool, if you recall."

"That was different."

"How was it different?!" Buffy exclaimed, "I killed you because it needed to be done. I killed you because no one else could."

"And what? Now it's time to repay the favor?" Angel exclaimed, just as harshly. "I don't think so."

"God, Weasley's right!" Buffy exclaimed, annoyed. "You are a pillock sometimes. I don't even know what a pillock is, but you're acting like one right now!"

"I'm not doing this! Ask Spike to do this, but not me!"

"He tried in my world. He tried to kill me and failed." Buffy replied, "My baby can't afford any failure. Besides, I shouldn't have to ask him, because I'm asking you!"

"I'll protect your baby." Angel reasoned, firmly. "But I won't make the promise you're asking me to."

"See? That's pillock-y right there!"

Angel nearly growled in frustration and began pacing the length of the office. Buffy would have gotten up to confront him face on, but she'd been serious earlier when she spoke about getting out of a chair - it was a real bitch when nearly eight months pregnant, superhuman powers or not. So, she stayed seated and waited for him to face her.

It was a moment before he could regain his composure, "Why are you asking _me_ to do this?"

Buffy already had the answer to that, "For the same reason why you said we can't be friends."

Angel looked over at her, showing no surprise. "You overheard that part of the conversation?"

Buffy nodded, nearly admitting to the fact that Cordelia had heard it and other parts of that conversation as well. But Cordelia would skin her alive if Buffy brought the brunette's name into this conversation. So, instead she bit her tongue and forced herself to remain silent on that front.

"Well," Angel began, slowly. "You probably misunderstood what I meant by that. What I meant by that was . . . we have a complicated and . . . we can't really function as a--"

Buffy cut to the chase, "–that we can't be friends? Yeah, I believe that subtext was more text than sub."

"It's not that–"

"--You're right, Angel." Buffy cut in, before he began digging himself a hole. "We can't be friends."

Angel looked surprised, "You're agreeing with me?"

"I know. Let's hope the world doesn't fling off it's axis, but yes, I'm agreeing with you about this." Buffy sighed, "We can't be friends. We just don't know how to be . . ._ that way_. I mean, I think we're at a point in our lives where denial of that would be a bit ridiculous, not to mention really exhausting. There will always be something _more_ between us. Don't you feel it?"

Angel slowly agreed, "Every time I see you."

Buffy paused, gazing up at him. A part of her could so easily loose herself in him right now, it wouldn't even take the slightest bit of effort. Too easy. But she needed to be an adult and make the hard decisions. She needed to do what was best for everybody, including herself. That meant being in control, and when Angel was involved, nothing was in control for her.

"Angel, as intense as this thing between us is . . . we can't. We only hurt each other. That's a lesson, that if ever there was a hard way, we've learned it well."

"Yeah," he replied, in a non-committal voice. "Right."

"I'm saying . . . I'm not going down that road with you again, Angel. I'm not letting myself fall for you."

"I'm not . . . I didn't ask--"

"I know," Buffy replied, "This is just a general, blanket statement. I'm putting it out there right now from the beginning. The Buffy-Angel angst show is going to end. Starting now."

Angel paused in contemplation, "You know, it's funny . . . I'm usually the one that says this part of the conversation. You know, where I say you deserve better."

"I'm not saying I deserve better, Angel." Buffy replied, softly. "I'm just saying in my experience every time we hook up, one or both of us goes evil. The world and our loved ones deserve better than that. Anyway, how's that funny?"

"Well, not funny, ha ha. But more funny, in an excruciating pain type of way."

"Yeah, that's sounds like our love life." Buffy commented, sourly. "Look, this thing between us is in the past now. Let's just try to keep it that way. Okay?"

Angel cleared his throat, "It makes sense."

Buffy nodded, slowly. "Good."

"Good."

"Great."

"Yeah."

A pregnant silence fell over them, and Buffy searched for something to say. But really, everything they wanted to say was now out in the open. She could only hope that now that they had this out of the way, she wouldn't have to feel so . . . _off_ around him. Her life was complicated enough without adding that heartbreaking factor to it.

Eventually, after a painful minute of complete silence, she gave up at trying to think of something to say. She attempted with difficulty to get up from her chair, and seeing this, Angel slowly walked over and offered her a hand. She paused, looking at it in apprehension. Then, so slowly, she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her gently to her feet.

They stood that way, hand in hand, for a moment longer than necessary. Then she pulled away and started walking towards the door.

"Buffy?"

She turned around, "Yeah?"

"We established the fact that we can't be friends. And now, we can't be . . . anything _more_ than friends. Where does that leave us?"

"I don't know." Buffy replied honestly, and forced herself to walk away.

--


	14. Blonde vs Brunette

1A/N

I am so sorry for the delay. The last month and a half has really been busy for me. With school Finals, then the holidays, and visiting relatives, real life just kinda kicked my ass. I'll try and get the next chapter out sooner. My goal is at least one chapter per month (I can't promise anything better than that), so please bare with me. Thanks.

Plus a _major, major thanks_ to my Beta, MadelineFate, who went above and beyond duty for this chapter. Not only did she correct my numerous mistakes, but she also rewrote a huge portion of the text so it played off better. She provided me with great advice and the chapter is better for it. Thanks so much, MadelineFate!

Onto the show . . .

-

Sighing in frustration as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, straining against the weights shackled to him that seem to compound hourly, and being driven batters by the constant noise and chaos around him, Spike wondered how much longer he could last under this torture.

To say he was in a tight spot was like saying Angel, on occasion, liked to use nancy-boy hair gel. It was the bloody understatement of the year! He had to figure out how to get out of this sodding situation. He grudgingly admitted to himself that his only comfort at the moment was that he wasn't in this spot by himself. Angel and Gunn were on his right, and Wesley was on his left, sharing in the wrath of this firing squad.

"Anybody figure out an exit plan, yet?" Angel questioned, with a strained voiced.

"Perhaps a distraction is in order?" Wesley suggested, nervously. "One of us could . . . cause a commotion at one end of the room, while the other three could make a break for freedom. And since I seem to be the one responsible for triggering these events, I think it's only fair that I be the one to cause the distraction."

"That's bloomin' mad, English," Spike replied. "Not to mention a touch on the suicidal side."

"We're not leaving anybody behind," Angel ordered, heatedly. "We all get out of this, or none of us get out."

"Still, I feel responsible," Wesley replied. "If this is truly the end-"

"Don't talk like that, man!" Gunn interrupted. "We've been in worse situations than this, and we've come out of it."

"Now, we just have to regroup and think of a plan that doesn't sacrifice one of us," Angel replied. "Any other bright ideas?"

Silence greeted his question.

"Oh, wait a tick, I got it," Spike replied, after a moment. "We start a row between us, and when they come here to step in, all we do is get the better of them and skive off."

"No time," Gunn said, his eyes widening in fear. "Oh God . . . here they come again."

"Keep your courage, men. It'll all be over soon enough."

"If there's mercy in this world," Wesley muttered, softly.

And then they came . . .

Buffy, Harmony, Cordelia, and Fred walked towards them, with intimidation in every step.

. . . Each carrying dozens of shopping bags.

The men, already trapped under an avalanche of shopping bags from Macy's, Bloomingdale's, Baby Gap, Banana Republic, Pottery Barn, and a variety of other stores, shuddered at the sight. Yet they remained still, amongst the growing chaos and noise of the mall around them, they showed no fear. No despair.

They had their bloody pride, after all.

"We'll hit two more stores," Cordelia announced cheerily, "and then we can go to the West end of the mall. I'm just so glad you guys decided to come shopping with us! It's just so much better with a bigger group, don't you think?"

Buffy handed Angel an enormously large stuffed animal that was, Spike thought, supposed to be a hippopotamus of some bloody kind. It was nearly the size of any of the men here, and burdened with it, Angel could barely see over the top of its' head.

"Oh, you know," Angel replied, through clenched teeth, "our pleasure."

"What are you on about?" Spike replied, brashed off. "While they're all gallavanting around, yakking _incessantly_ about dishy new clothes for a person that will be the size of my foot, we're the pillocks that roam about after 'em with a hundred kilos worth of scrap no human being in his right mind needs! They're making tossers out of all of us!"

"Wow," Buffy commented, blinking. "Can you believe all of that was English?"

"Seemed like another language to me," Cordelia replied, nonchalantly.

"Anyway, afterwards we've got to go to the Toy Store on West Crawford street, too," Buffy added, ignoring Spike's outburst completely. "They've got the cutest baby stuff there, and I think we've only gotten about half the necessary things so far."

Spike snorted, sardonically. "Giving birth to a baby or a litter, luv? 'Cause I'd like to-"

"We don't have enough pink," Harmony interrupted, looking at the bags and bags _and bags _of little baby girl clothes, ninety percent of which was pink. "I told you guys, we need more pink."

"Really?" Fred questioned, incredulous. "You don't think it'll look like a Pepto Bismol bottle exploded on the kid?"

Wesley sighed, relieved. "I _knew_ you'd be the one rational woman about all this."

Fred smiled. "Now, what we do need more of is yellow. We don't have enough yellow! We need pok-a-dot yellow, and striped yellow, and yellow little smiley faces with yellow sunshine in the background and yellow flowers in the foreground. Yellow, I tell you! Yellow!"

Wesley looked accusingly at the other three women, "You've broken her!"

"We just released the inner shop-aholic in her," Cordelia replied, proudly. "The yellow thing, however, we had nothing to do with."

Gunn groaned. "We have enough of every color to dress half the children in a third world country!" he exclaimed, irritated. "Don't you guys think you're taking this just a little overboard?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Typical male response. The question of need is irrelevant here. This is about something special and personal."

"Yes," Harmony agreed. "Shopping."

Buffy looked over at her. "Actually, I was going to say this was about buying stuff for my first and - barring another freaky miracle - only child. I have every right to shop till I drop."

"Yes," Angel replied, evenly. "But we're the ones that are carrying all the stuff. If any one here is likely to drop, it'll be one of us."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "I'm an old fashioned girl. I grew up with the notion that the women shop, and the vampires carry the shopping bags."

"Some of you are vampires, too," Gunn pointed out.

Buffy looked slightly outraged. "I'm eight months pregnant. You're gonna force me to carry all this stuff? It might push me into labor!"

"And I might break a nail!" Harmony added, just as outraged.

"Fine," Angel conceded, sighing. "Go. Continue to shop. But we've been patient long enough. I'm putting my foot down here. We leave after two more stores. I mean it. Two stores."

-

Four stores later, Harmony was nearly bouncing with energy.

How great was today? She got to spend an entire day shopping with a bunch of girlfriends. God, she had missed this. She missed having these types of days. She missed shopping until there was no store she had left unmarked. She missed being able to totally let loose and forget about money issues. But most of all, she missed having someone to share her shopping days with. Not since high school had she had moments like this. She was still totally surprised and honored that they thought to invite her . . . Although, she thought with a smile, shopping was kind of like a religion to her. They probably just made the logical connections.

Fred exited the fitting room, nervously. "Are you sure this isn't too . . . revealing?"

Harmony squealed, "Are you kidding me? You look absolutely stunning. Wesley won't know what hit him."

Fred fidgeted with the straps, self-aware. She really did look stunning, though. In a captivating soft pink dress that stopped just a cut above the knees, with a plunging neckline that hinted at just enough without seeming too slutty, and delicate lace work woven throughout the dress, she looked traffic-stop worthy.

Cordelia and Buffy entered the fitting room waiting area, stopping to check Fred out.

"Wow," Buffy commented, "somebody hit you with a pretty stick."

Fred smiled, almost shyly. "You think?"

"Oh, yeah." Cordelia agreed. "You've got the one month anniversary coming up soon, right? Wear this dress, for sure. Wesley is _so_ going to go non-verbal on you."

Fred smile turned into a grin. "I do like it when he does that."

She ended up buying it and two other dresses, while Harmony, Buffy, and Cordelia roamed around the store in hunt for more clothing. They could still see the guys through the store glass window, looking beyond bored, but none of them decided that any haste was in order.

At least not until Harmony spotted somebody talking to Angel.

"Hey, look!" Harmony said, pointing towards the guys and their new visitor. "It's Nina."

Cordelia looked over. "Whose Nina?"

Harmony smiled. "Just some girl that has a crush on Angel."

That got Buffy's attention from the corner. "Really?"

"Yeah," Harmony replied, "on a scale of one to ten, she flirts with him like she's Paris Hilton."

Cordelia looked over at the group outside the store window, suddenly very interested. "She's a blonde," she noted, shrewdly. "That automatically puts her on Angel's radar."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Just because he has taste-"

"–or lack thereof," Cordelia cut in.

Buffy smiled, bitingly. "You're just upset that your double from this world dyed her hair blonde. I can't help it if every girl wants to be a blond at heart."

"Yes, and if you'll recall, when my double dyed her hair blond, she turned evil. Coincidence? I think not," Cordelia replied. "I can't help it if turning blondmeans you're gonna havean increased likelihoodto becominganevil vixen. And, usually, if not that, then there'sprobably justgoing to bea majordecrease in intelligence. Although that goes without saying, doesn't it?"

"Hey!" Buffy exclaimed. "I am sick and tired of the dumb blonde jokes. Need I remind you, I got higher SAT scores than you did!"

"Yeah," Cordelia replied, "but you gotta think big picture. On my brunette team, I have Fred. _You have Harmony_."

"Hey!" Harmony cut in, offended.

"Sorry, Harmony," Cordelia replied, "I'm just bringing forth evidence here. Anyway, I think we can all agree that this little hussy talking to Angel is going to be on the lower end of the intelligence totem pole."

"What makes you say that?" Harmony asked, annoyed. "Because she's a blond?

"No," Cordelia replied, "because she's wearing white after Labor Day."

The rest of the women paused to look at Nina, then nodded in agreement with the fashion-slash-intelligence litmus test Nina had apparently failed.

"They do look very chummy though, don't they?" Buffy questioned, seriously.

Actually when Harmony looked at them outside the store window, Angel looked kind of fidgety, as if he was aware that both Buffy and Cordelia were looking over at him right now. His eyes kept darting back to their corner of the store, then back to Nina, and Harmony caught flashes of the look in his eyes - nervousness.

Funny, she'd never really seen Angel get flustered before.

Nina, on the other hand, looked totally oblivious to Angel's wandering attention. As usual, she was focused on sending out signals that a blind and deaf man from a mile away could pick up on. Of course, in this specific situation, a blind and deaf man from a mile away was actually more perceptive than Angel.

"Is it me?" Cordelia asked, annoyed, "or is she flaunting her neck cleavage at him?"

"She's done everything short of stripping down naked in front of him," Harmony informed. "I don't think she gets the fact that Angel's in the 'run-for-your-life-before-you-date-him' category of potential boyfriends . . . Although, to be fair to her, neither did either of you two."

"Hey!" Cordelia replied, offended.

Buffy cleared her throat, embarrashed. "Yes, well, we're not talking about us. We're talking about her! How well does Angel know her, anyway?"

"They've had a few breakfasts together," Harmony answered, shrugging. "Oh, and he's probably seen her naked a few times because she turns into a werewolf three times a month and _conveniently _manages to lose her clothes."

"Really?" Cordelia asked. "Well, it would be rude of us if we didn't stop by and say hello, don't you think? We don't want to be rude."

"No, not rude," Buffy responded, lightly. "But who says we can't have little fun?"

They exchanged glances, then simultaneously started making their way out of the store with Harmony eagerly running after them. Along the way they passed Fred, who was busy purchasing her clothes at the checkout counter.

"Hurry up," Harmony advised, excitedly. "I think this is going to be interesting!"

Fred looked at her blankly, then followed their pathway until her gaze connected with Nina. A comical look of understanding fell onto her face, and quickly signing the credit card receipt, she rushed to catch up with them.

Angel saw their approach from twenty feet away, and slowly seemed to grow more anxious as the distance lessened. The other guys, seeing this reaction, could barely control their amusement. And while Gunn and Wesley at least attempted to smother their laughter, Spike made no such attempt.

"Oh, bloody hell. This is gonna be priceless."

When they approached, Nina was in the middle of telling the guys about a party she was having. " . . . So, if you don't already have plans, I was hoping you could come," she said, with a tinge of anxiousness in her voice. "You know what? Of course,_ you_ already have plans. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean I gave you the invitation barely a day in advance. You probably have something important to do like, I don't know, saving the world or something."

"Well," Buffy commented, coming up from behind. "Saving the world doesn't usually give you a notice in advance, either. It usually kinda pops up unexpectedly . . . Or it's a Tuesday."

"Really?" Cordelia questioned, "For us it was always a Wednesday."

Nina looked confused. "I'm sorry?"

Not yet, Harmony thought, but soon you will be. She'd seen that look on Cordelia's face back in high school. It usually accompanied a girl ending up in tears after a total tearing-into-special provided by Queen C.

"Hey Fred. Hey Harmony," Nina greeted, clueless. "Who're your friends-"

"You guys are done shopping so soon?" Angel cut in, nervously. "You haven't even hit the top floor, yet."

"What the hell are you doing, man!" Gunn demanded, from the side. "Don't encourage them!"

Angel sent Gunn a look that was pointedly and blatantly desperate.

Buffy turned to Nina. "Sheesh, Angel. Where are your manners? Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?"

"Who?" Angel questioned, jittery. "Oh, you mean Nina? No, she's . . . she's more of an acquaintance, really." Nina looked a bit smarted by the comment, so Angel found himself rescinding the comment almost immediately. "I mean, she's more than an acquaintance - but less than a friend. I mean - that's not what I mean. She's a friend, a good friend. A new friend. And she's also a werewolf."

Wesley seemed to take pity on the vampire. "Oh, Angel. I just remembered that there was a . . . something I needed your opinion on. It's right over there. Why don't you walk with me?"

Angel looked beyond relieved and thankful. "Oh, yes! Of course! Sorry, ladies, but Wesley needs my advice on . . . something . . . Later."

He rushed out to meet Wesley, and the two men along with Gunn started walking quickly away as if they were fleeing the scene of a crime.

"Oh, c'mon!" Spike exclaimed, annoyed. "No torture? That was barely any fun to watch!"

"Torture?" Nina questioned, confused.

Spike looked at the women present, "Any chance they'll be girl on girl violence, here?"

Buffy glared, and for a second Harmony wondered if her vampire face was going to come out and play.

"Right, then," Spike said, clearing his throat. "Cheers."

He rushed to catch up with the guys, leaving the women standing alone.

Cordelia rolled her eyes, turning to Nina. "You know how Angel can get sometimes. Such a loveable, yet complete and utter dork."

Nina shrugged, "I-I guess I'll take your word for that. I don't really know."

"Oh, that's right. You haven't known Angel for seven years like we have," she replied, pointedly. "I'm Cordelia, by the way."

Somewhere off in the distance, Harmony could still vaguely hear Angel professing his profound gratitude towards Wesley.

Nina smiled. "Well, it's nice to meet you."

"And I'm Buffy," the blonde added, smiling brightly. "So . . . you're a werewolf?"

"Oh, ah, only the last couple of months," Nina replied, uncomfortably. "It takes some getting use to."

"I know what you mean," Buffy replied, sympathetically. "Cordelia, here, is a half-demon with freaky powers. She doesn't even know what half of them do. And me? I'm a vampire impregnated by Angel's evil alter ego."

Nina didn't seem to know how to respond to that. "Oh, ah . . . Angel . . . he's the father of your baby? I didn't know he was involved with anybody."

"He's not," Buffy replied, "It was his evil alter ego that knocked me up, and that was also in an alternate reality, so it's this whole thing. Yadda, yadda, yawn. You know how it goes. Ex's come with complications!"

"I told you we lead interesting lives," Fred said gently, taking pity on Nina. "You didn't think I was joking, did you?"

"Right, of course," Nina replied, blankly. "That does sound . . . complicated and interesting. But, ah, just one question: Angel's evil alter ego?"

"Well, yeah," Harmony replied, flippantly. "You didn't think he was the Dark Avenger-slash-CEO of a lucrative law firm all his life, didja?"

"Oh, well, yeah. I guess I kinda did."

Buffy and Cordelia traded looks, then simple shrugged it off. "Anybody could make that mistake, I'm sure. Not many people know about his nailing-puppies-to-the-wall days."

"Puppies?" Nina repeated, in a small voice.

"And there was that thing with Willow's fish," Cordelia added, lightly.

"Fish?" Nina repeated, this time bewildered.

"Yeah, but I tend to focus on the fact that he killed Miss Calender weeks after that fish thing happened," Buffy replied.

"Miss Calender?" Harmony repeated. "Our highschool Computer Science teacher? I didn't know Angel killed her."

Buffy nodded. "It was right before I had to send him to hell for trying to end the world. Back in our junior year."

"Oh," Harmony said, shrugging off the information.

Nina was starting to look a little pale, "Right. Well . . . it was nice meeting you, but I've still got some shopping to do. It was nice meeting you."

"You said that twice," Cordelia noted, "but still, I'm sure the pleasure was all ours."

Nina smiled, tightly. "Bye."

"Bye," Buffy waved. "And have a great day!"

After she was out of sight, Fred cleared her throat. "I thought she was a nice girl."

"I thought she was a little slow," Cordelia responded, matter-of-factly.

"Me, too." Buffy agreed, nodding.

Then, they continued with their shopping for another four hours as if nothing had interrupted it. Somehow, Harmony saw, it was determined that Nina wasn't really registering on their radar much.

-

Days passed by and the group slowly settled into a rhythm that could be roughly called bearable. In addition to the daily toil of working at Wolfram and Hart, they now had several additional tasks.

Wesley spent most of his time divided between two main priorities. The first of which was, truth be told, his emerging relationship with Fred. What he had desired for so long had finally become his, and it was with both eager anticipation and mind-numbing fear that he ventured into a relationship that was most likely going to be his greatest and, if he had anything to say about it, longest relationship.

Fred was so loving, so nearly perfect in so many ways. Often he caught himself drifting off into a daydream like some love-sick schoolboy during the day, just thinking about her. It was no doubt mushy and sickening to watch the two of them together now, but Wesley could say without the slightest hesitation that he didn't give a damn if they acted like fools in love. That's what they were. He just hoped this feeling would never end. It made the stuff Shakespeare wrote of . . . pale in comparison.

But when he wasn't enamored with the beautiful and brainy girl that had so long ago captured his heart, when he wasn't spending time with her or thinking of her, he was to the entire world obsessed with work. Buried in a pile of paperwork and sources of translation, Wesley scarcely saw anyone during the work hours. He spent this time, hours and hours on end, locked in one main pursuit.

To ensure Buffy her soul.

But, like he had predicted at the beginning of this venture, the logistics of the problem were making it nearly impossible to make headway. Several times now, a possible solution had been discovered: A spell from Tibet. A rare healing shroud from a powerful tribe in sub-Saharan Africa. Several promising texts flown in from the southeast corner of India. And his personal favorite, a protection talisman that turned out to be nothing more than a tourist trinket from Hollywood. They always ended in complete failure.

Hawkerites' First Law of Spiritualism was binding their hands and Wesley feared that short of going back to Buffy's home world and retrieving her soul, there was no way Buffy was going to remain her non-homicidal self for long. Once the baby was born, he knew, life was going to get more complicated. And the fact that Angel, Spike, and Cordelia refused to dwell on those thoughts for long - almost ignoring the matter as if it were a plague - Wesley found himself slipping further and further into paranoia about it.

He feared the chaos a soulless Buffy could cause.

But not everything was looking bleak in the eyes of the former watcher. There was still hope and it came in a comforting form - a book. The manuscript Whistler had delivered via Cordelia held great promise. Much to his shock and delight when he was first handed the musty and heavily worn book, Wesley soon discovered that the book turned out to be none other than the fabled Mashkin Tome, thought to have been destroyed over a century ago when the British first seized the vast library of Nineveh in what was once Ancient Mesopotamia (otherwise known as modern day Iraq).

However, since the manuscript held writings from several different ancient languages in accordance to those that held power over the region where civilization first bloomed, Wesley was once again having great difficulty in translating the text.

Even the title of the tome, Mashkin, was giving him problems. In ancient Sumerian, the word referred to one of the seven demons said to devour blood at night, an obvious allusion to vampires. However, the same word in a Babylonian context meant "inspector, sheriff - a person who enforces order in society." He wasn't sure which context was correct, for the original prophecy could have been written in either language.

But Wesley continued his work, with a singular devotion that even surprised Fred when she stopped by for lunch and often a private dinner in his office. He'll admit, even with her distracting presence in the room, the Mashkin Tome kept attracting his attention. This book was promising to be more foretelling than any of the other prophesies and omens he'd been shifting through lately.

"Okay, I'll bite." Fred once said, exasperated. "What is so darn interestin' about that book? I'm over here playing the so-willing girlfriend, and you can't get your eyes off a musty book. You'll make a girl question her feminine wiles, if you keep that up."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Well, I would hate for you to question your feminine wiles. I'm quite a fan of them."

She smiled, and Wesley wondered if she still had any idea how greatly that smile affected him. "So, what have you translated so far?"

Wesley shifted. "Well, I'm not comfortable saying yet. It's just bits and pieces."

"So? Tell me the bits, at least."

Wesley looked over at her, and caved within a second. "Well, I suppose I could . . ."

"You are so _whipped_," Fred accused, laughing.

Wesley found himself only feigning annoyance, "Wouldn't it be prudent for you not to call attention to it?"

"Yes," Fred replied, shrugging. "But you're so darn cute when you get indignant."

Wesley couldn't help the small smile that grew on his lips before retrieving the book and bringing it back to her, "The translation is still in question for much of the book, but I've focused my attention on this one section. I think it'll be of the most use."

Fred grasped the aging book, gently with care. "Well, what's it say?"

"If what I translated so far is correct, this text is nothing short of startling," Wesley informed, somberly. "I've actually held off telling the others because . . . well, I don't want to get their hopes up if this turns out to be misleading."

"Good news, then?"

"I think so," Wesley answered, pointing to a specific section. "You see this part here? That speaks of a Triumvirate – a group of three preternatural creatures who will combine their powers in order to achieve a power so immense, they will be nearly unstoppable."

"And that's good?" Fred questioned, dubious. "Cause preternatural creatures? Doesn't sound good."

"I haven't gotten to the best part, yet," Wesley replied. "If I translated correctly, this texts dictates that the three preternatural creatures will all be vampires. _With souls_."

Fred's eyes widened at the revelation. "Oh."

He nodded, glad that he hadn't informed the others of this development yet. He wanted to make sure that he was reading it correctly, for if he was, he knew everyone would automatically assume that despite the current problems of securing Buffy's soul, the three were surely destined to be Angel, Spike, and Buffy. And Wesley had to agree, it did seem likely. Who else could be the third, after all? Who else could complete Angel and Spike?

No other vampire would ever think of being re-ensouled, yet Buffy was actively searching for a way. Even the cynic in Wesley saw where all the signs were pointing. If this prophecy was referring to her, it held out hope that maybe, just maybe, they were going to find a way for Buffy to be re-ensouled after giving birth. The solution just had yet to present itself.

Wesley continued, feeling a spark of hope. "They're called the Souled Three. It's said that they will be placed in the front lines of warfare and will lead an army of their compatriots towards certain victory or certain doom."

"It doesn't specify which one?"

"That would be far too convenient," Wesley replied, dryly. "No, the text is ambiguous about the end result, but it does state clearly that they're mainly fighting against a foe they have referred to simply as 'The Destroyer's Kin.' "

"The Destroyer's Kin?" Fred repeated, "Well, there's a phrase that inspires a warm fuzzy feeling . . . _of doom_."

Wesley nodded. "There's more."

"Oh, goody."

Wesley regarded her with a look of contemplation, "I was just thinking about something. Wolfram and Hart's main reason for being interested in Angel was because their sources identified him as a key player in the Armageddon. If the Mashkin Tome is referring to the same thing, it seems that they were only partially correct. Angel's simply one-third of the equation - one third of the Triumvirate."

"So?"

"So, since I think it's fair to say that Spike's another part of the Triumvirate," Wesley said, "and the most reasonable guess at that third is Buffy, that means that all three are in the near vicinity of or heavily influenced by Wolfram and Hart . . . I don't like what that implies."

"Implies?" Fred repeated in a small, hopeful voice. "Why does it have to imply anything? Can't it just be, you know, a funny coincidence?"

Wesley sighed. "Either Wolfram and Hart got extremely lucky, gaining such proximity to the Three by pure happenstance. Or . . ."

Fred reluctantly picked up where he left off, " . . . or they knew about the Three to begin with, and maneuvered everyone into their current positions like some chess game."

"And we were the pawns." Wesley finished gravely.

He could see Fred beginning to understand the full weight of it. "You know, all they had to do in this situation was get Angel's cooperation. Spike and Buffy fell into place after that. They're here because of him."

"If falling into place can be considered something as simple as 'being brought back from the dead through an amulet' and 'being transported here from an alternate reality,' then yes," Wesley noted, keenly. "Both were brought here under the most unusual circumstances. Wolfram and Hart could have maneuvered that into happening, as well."

Fred's face grew somber. "I know all about Wolfram and Hart's work in mystical resurrections and inter-dimensional traveling. They could have easily pulled this off."

Wesley nodded, "Which means, if we're right, so far we've done nothing but play by their script to the letter. The Three are here within their grasp."

"But why?" Fred questioned, "Assuming that we aren't being paranoid fanatics that are screaming "conspiracy!" at every odd conjunction of events, why would they want to bring together The Souled Three?"

"In order to keep an eye on them?" Wesley guessed. "In order to distract them, or undermine them? There are thousands of reasons I could think of. But that's not what bothers me."

Fred nearly groaned, "What bothers you, then?"

Wesley sighed, knowing he'd only admit this to Fred and no one else. "That we're making a major assumption in all of this . . . We're assuming the Souled Three will be on the side of the good."

-

Gunn had become an extremely busy man these last few days.

Brimmed to the top with lawyer mumbo-jumbo that would make Johnny Cochran's head spin, he put those skills of his to good use. Since the day Buffy and Cordelia first arrived, Gunn was delegated with one main task: to construct an air-tight legal contract that would secure the safety of Buffy's baby. Knowing full well of all the demon cults and religious fanatics out there that would see this kid as some sort of miracle child (which Gunn had no doubt it probably was), he focused all his energy and knowledge into producing a contract that would make this kid untouchable to all manners of demons and big bads.

It was a thing of beauty, if he did say so himself. One sample section said :

_. . . The entity described in subsection (g)(4) hereinafter referred to as the party of the first part will be claimed by ownership of blood relatives as stated in section 1237(b)(2)(B) prior to the accomplishment of eighteen years of life. Notwithstanding loss of soul or animation, this ownership will not be refuted by any order of law, preternatural or otherwise, unless authorized without duress by stated guardians (subsection (f) (3), paragraph 92) hereinafter referred to as the party of the second part . . . ._

And another section said :

_No cult, religion, or otherwise faith-based group which claims ownership or possession of the party of the first part as an authoritative or religious leader, be that a medium of spirituality, prognosticator, or divined holy vessel will be allowed contact with the entity prior to it's eighteenth birthday . . . . _

And yet another section said :

_Therein, violations will be judged through due process by an objective third group consisting of a high council of Cor'mential Tai, and violators deemed guilty will result in either punishment of death, expatriation from Earth, or imprisonment of up to 300 years in a correctional institution to be chosen in accordance to the special needs of the violator . . ._

It went on and on and on like that for over 300 hundred pages.

When he finally completed the arduous task last Tuesday, he brought it over to everybody for signature. Buffy, of course, was the main applicant, but Angel's signature was also necessary, as was Cordelia's (who would be signing as a witness). The expression of outright horror on Buffy's face when he first handed the papers to her was actually quite amusing.

"Wow," Buffy commented, looking at the contract with concern. "You don't mess around, do you? Somewhere out there is a forest that just got a little bit smaller."

Gunn smirked, "Tell me about it. You can read it, if you want. But it has everything you wanted, including the provisions in case . . . bad things happen to you in the future."

"Bad things?" Cordelia repeated, looking at Buffy, then Angel. "You mean if she losses her soul after the birth?"

"Among other things, yeah," Angel said, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

"Good," Buffy replied, nodding firmly. "That's the way it should be."

Cordelia sighed. "Fine, let's get this over with. Where do I sign?"

"You're last to sign," Gunn instructed, "Angel and Buffy are first."

For some reason, Buffy looked surprised that Angel had to sign at all. "Wait, why is he signing?"

Gunn paused, surprised. "You don't know?" He asked, then turned towards Angel. "You didn't tell her?"

Angel cleared his throat, and answered evasively. "Hadn't really gotten around to it, yet."

"Gotten around to what?" Cordelia questioned, in a threatening tone that made Angel wince.

Gunn answered for him, "Angel's the other guardian. He's gotta sign right next to Buffy."

Buffy looked surprised. "Who? What? Huh?"

"Three excellent questions," Cordelia replied, with a raised eyebrow. "I thought I was next in line for the kid!"

Gunn sighed, sending a glare towards Angel. "He was suppose to have gone over this with you already. I ran into some complications with setting Cordelia up as the guardian in case of your demise or de-soulment, so I had to do a little bit of imaginative thinking. You see, the contract wouldn't be as solid as it could be if I place Cordelia as the secondary guardian."

"Why not?" Buffy questioned.

"She has no ties, physical or spiritual, to the baby."

"Hey!" Cordelia replied, offended. "I've been through hell for this baby. I think that implies a certain tie to the kid."

Gunn raised his hands in surrender. "And I'm sure it does, just not the type that translates into legal matters well. However, blood ties show no complications at all."

"Blood ties?" Buffy repeated, in a tone.

"Like the one you share with the baby," Gunn replied, "which is basically the same one that Angel shares - that of a parent."

Both Buffy and Cordelia swiveled their surprised heads towards Angel, who looked like he very much wanted to sink into the floor.

Angel laughed, nervously. "It's this whole technicality _thing_. You see, I'm basically identical to Angelus in every way . . . except, of course, for the obvious stuff like the soul and the penchant for form-fitting, leather pants."

Gunn continued, trying in vain to block out the mental image of Angel in tight leather pants. "In the legal world, he can be identified as the father of the baby."

"Oh," Buffy replied, her voice non-committal.

Angel seemed about ready to add something, then changed his mind and closed his mouth.

"So Angel gets custody because his evil alter ego got groiny with Buffy?" Cordelia questioned, enraged. "What kind of screwy system is this?"

"The legal system," Gunn answered. "It's not perfect, but if you wanna make this work, we should seize this loophole and make it work to our advantage. It would be easier for me, and better for the kid, if the contract had a direct blood relative as the secondary guardian. You'll still be first in line, Buffy. Angel becomes guardian only in the eventuality of your death or de-soulment."

"And what about me?" Cordelia asked, irritated. "Do I get any say over this kid that I risked life and limb for?"

Gunn nodded. "You're Godmother."

"Oh," Cordelia replied, somewhat appeased. "Well, that's something, I guess."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah. You just have to wait for me _and Angel _to get knocked out of the picture, and all your dreams will come true."

Cordelia smiled, bitingly. "Yeah, well. You two will have to stick around for a bit longer. I'm not mommy material, yet."

"And what, I am?" Buffy replied, incredulous. "The closer I come to giving birth to this kid, the more I realize that I'm kinda my own Trojan Horse. I'm not sure I'm ready for this kid."

Gunn smirked. "Well, are you at least ready to sign?"

Buffy paused, then looked towards Angel for a second. Gunn had no idea what was passing between them, and quite frankly, he was completely cool that way. The words 'complicated history' didn't do it justice.

"Yeah, I'm ready," Buffy announced, looking away from Angel with a look Gunn couldn't identify. "Show me the dotted lines."

"I want you to be comfortable with this before you sign, Buffy," Angel said, concerned. "Are you sure you wannadothis right now?"

"Well, not as sure as I am in the inaccuracy of every bathroom scale ever made," Buffy replied, glibly. "But yeah. Look, all this legal mumbo-jumbo hurts my head in the worst way. But if it helps my kid . . . just tell me where to sign."

Gunn slide the heavy document towards her. "Well, you can start with signing right here . . . and forty-two other places."

Buffy groaned.

-

She looked at herself in the mirror-tiled walls of the elevator, adjusting her silk scarf with annoyance. After thirty seconds of being subjected to the excruciating torture of the elevator music, the elevator doors of Wolfram and Hart finally pinged open to announce her presence.

Lilah Morgan smiled at the sight that greeted her.

It was so mind-numbingly familiar, it seemed like she had stepped back in time. People with suits and ties and blouses and skirts rushing about, trying to finish their work as if their lives depended on it - which, generally speaking, was actually the case. Still, Wolfram and Hart in its day-to-day life was something she was surprised to say she actually missed.

Nothing had changed. Not a damn thing. She found that amusing as she walked out of the elevator (and no, she wasn't talking about the furnishing or the employees - those would change as fashion and fatal circumstances would dictate). What she was talking about was the atmosphere. It still had that same flavor of . . . what were the words she was looking for here?

Oh yeah – pure, unadulterated evil.

No fresh coat of paint or band of do-gooders would ever change that. A zombie attack hadn't changed it. The sun being blocked out hadn't changed it. And neither would Angel and his group of wacky sidekicks. She knew that better than most, having lived and died under its employment.

Heels clicking against the polished floors, she walked across the lobby with an air of supremacy that had taken years to master. She passed by the secretary's desk without so much as a passing glance. However, with quick pixie-like movements, the blonde secretary quickly interceded her pathway to Angel's office.

"Sorry," she said, smiling brightly. "You have to have an appointment to see the big guy."

With a snap judgment that Lilah was known for, she automatically dismissed her because the expression on the blondes' face was a little too I'm-refreshingly-like-a beer-because-I-too-am-empty-from-the neck-up.

"He'll want to see me," Lilah informed, condescendingly. "We're old chums, me and him. So, walk over there and push that button that says intercom, and get out of my way before I have you fired - in a boiling pit of lava."

The blonde raised her eyebrows at the tone, and said disdainfully, "Huh, I didn't know Angel befriended cheap brunettes."

Lilah smiled. "Yes, I know. He's more famous for befriending cheap blondes instead."

The girl glared at her, but was interrupted before saying anything further when somebody else spoke up.

"Lilah."

She smiled in recognition, turning around to meet the irritated gaze of Angel, dressed from head to toe as a business man. It was a surprising sight to see after all these years of seeing him portrayed as the caped-crusader.

"If it isn't the gloomy avenger turned bureaucrat," she commented, dryly. "Surprised to see me?"

"More like disappointed," Angel answered, sedately. "Threatening the employees already? You seem to forget, Lilah, you don't work here anymore."

Lilah smiled, a touch bitterly. "I'll be working here from now till eternity. Might as well spread the joy."

"Lilah, for any joy to be spread, you have to leave. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"My job," Lilah replied. "Didn't anyone tell you? I'm your new liaison to the Senior Partners."

He paused in contemplation, then quickly sighed in frustration. "_Of course, you are_."

He turned around and walked back into his office without pause, and Lilah was soon mere steps behind him. After he shut the door (in the face of his secretary, she delighted in noting), he turned back to her with an exasperated look.

"Please tell me this is a temporary situation, and they're looking for a permanent replacement for Eve as we speak."

"Where would be the fun in that?" Lilah responded. "No, count your lucky stars, Angel. I'm going to be seeing you on a regular basis."

He sighed. "I wonder which past evil deed I'm being punished for right now."

"I say singing Mandy in public," Lilah answered, glibly. "Many agree, it's by far one of your worst deeds."

He rubbed his head in aggravation. "What happened to Eve?"

"Wolfram and Hart has taken care of her," Lilah informed. "Just don't except her to be coming to any company picnics."

"You killed her?"

Lilah smiled, "Well, yeah. I was kinda going for a euphemism there."

"Well, yeah, and I was kinda going for actually saying the words," Angel replied, "What about Lindsey?"

"Your concern is touching," Lilah remarked, dryly. "Lindsey, last I heard, is spending his free time playing house-husband in one of Wolfram and Harts' holding dimensions. I knew that boy was destined to end up there at some point."

"You're one to talk," Angel commented, "How's Hell these days?"

"Still hot."

"Hmm," Angel replied, nonchalantly. "So, if you're my new liaison to the Senior Partners, do you have a message for me?"

"What? No small talk? No I've-missed-your-charming-company-and-I'm-so-relieved-you're-not-in-Hell-anymore?"

"I would say that, but your charming habit of being a bitch annoys me, and I think Hell and you would go together very well. What's your message, Lilah?"

"Alright, keep your superhero tights on," she responded. "Oh, and I also have a gift."

She pulled out a slim and small envelope from her jacket pocket and tossed it to him. He deftly caught it, and looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Open it."

He did, finding a small colorful token inside made of silver and bronze. It was no bigger than a quarter, with a dragon's head on one side, and a human skull bathed in blue fire on the other.

"Oh gee," Angel said unimpressed, "and I didn't get you anything."

Lilah smirked. "Do you know what you're holding in your hands? Your son's future."

"Buffy's having a girl," Angel replied, automatically.

Lilah nearly laughed, "I said _your_ kid, Angel, not Angelus's. I know you're working for an evil law firm these days, but I didn't think you were having trouble telling the difference."

Angel glared at her, then abruptly looked back at the token in his hand. "You mean this is for Connor?"

"Yeah. Can you imagine my surprise when I found out Connor was working here." Lilah said, settling herself comfortably into one of the chairs. "You went through so much, and in a way, betrayed so many of your trusted friends to keep your son happy and clueless. Then you go and do an asinine thing like hire him to work here. Can I ask, for the love of power, why?"

He shrugged. "Can't really say."

Lilah rolled her eyes. "And you were the guy I was intimidated by when I was alive."

Angel held up the token in his hand. "What is this?"

"Like I said, it's a gift. When the Senior Partners heard that you had hired Connor, they naturally began to question whether you were having second thoughts about his arrangements. Primarily, his memories. Are you?"

"What?"

"Having second thoughts?"

Angel shook his head. "No, Connor's here by . . . coincidence and a twist of fate. I plan on firing him as soon as I can justify a reason."

"And until then you'll continue to have lunches with him?" Lilah questioned, dryly. "Show him around the joint like he's a VIP? Give him special privileges, as you've been doing since the second he entered this place two weeks ago?"

"You've been keeping an eye on us," Angel noted, with a hint of annoyance. "What I do with Connor is no concern of yours. I'm not having second thoughts, Lilah. I'm just showing him around the place."

"Whatever," Lilah said, not caring one way or the other. "But that little trinket in your hand gives you the choice to restore Connor's memories. But seeing as how you're never going to use it, I'll just take it back."

She held out her hand, but Angel refused to hand it back to her.

She smiled. "I thought so."

"I just don't trust you with it," Angel said, looking down at it with an intense scrutiny Lilah found amusing. "How does it work?"

"It's called the Token of Retention," Lilah explained. "Mystically forged the day we rewrote Connor's life. His superhuman powers, his memory, his psychotic personality, his everything he should have been but is not anymore, it's all wrapped up in that little sliver of metal. To break the power and memory spell we have him under, all you do is break the Token. Using fire is nicely effective for that."

"And you guys are giving this to me because . . ?"

Lilah smiled. "We aim to keep you happy. If you're having second thoughts, who are we to come between a father and his son?"

Angel gave her a look of utter disbelief.

She shrugged. "I'm just the messenger, and that's the message. Anyway, a little added bonus of this deal is everybody that was greatly affected by the memory spell will suddenly remember the true course of events. That means everyone, including your band of do-gooders, will remember what happened last year with Connor. They'll know who he truly is."

Angel looked down at the Token, then quickly pocketed it without pause. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm not going to use it, Lilah, so everybody will stay the way they are."

"That's your choice," Lilah said, indifferently. "Have everybody live on clueless. The Senior Partners don't feel concern over that matter."

"What do they care about, then?" Angel asked, shrewdly.

Lilah leaned forward, intent on delivering this message correctly. "Your recent expenditures which are, to say the least, sinking your funds faster than the Titanic. You've used the company jet to fly cross-country five times per week, and overseas several more times. You've hired out a record breaking amount of private mystics and seers, not to mention you've also bought dozens upon dozens of _priceless_ relics. You have in the last month spent more money than all the other months you've been here combined. And you weren't exactly being a penny-pincher before!"

"I'm looking for a cure for Buffy," Angel replied, heatedly. "One - she needs her soul. And two - she needs to live past the birth, which by the way, I've been researching for all by myself, no help from the others. I'll look under whatever expensive rock I can to get her those things. The Senior Partners don't like it? Tell them to bill me."

Lilah smirked. "You've been researching all that by yourself because you're being a secretive bastard. Since I'm working with you now, it's my professional duty to give you some sage advice. Tell your people about Darla and the pregnancy, Angel, get some help. Maybe then you won't be wasting millions and millions of dollars chasing down leads than any second year intern working here could tell you was going to be a dead-end."

"I can't ask them for help with this," Angel replied. "That would mean telling them about Connor. I can't do that."

"Then you're going to watch Buffy die, just like Darla," Lilah declared, matter of factly. "It's that simple and strait forward."

Angel's face closed off, for once not having a snappy comeback.

"Wow. Did I actually get through that thick head of yours?" Lilah replied, rolling her eyes. "You must know you're out of your depth with this. You need people to point you in the right direction. People who know their supernatural stuff, and hey, don't you have an ex-watcher working for you? That works out great, doesn't it?"

"How?" Angel said, for the first time beginning to show doubt in his own decisions. "How can I possibly begin to tell them about all this?"

"It'll be an awkward conversation. One that I would probably pay a lot money to witness." Lilah said, smirking. "But I think the point here is . . . suck it up, vampire boy. Stop acting like a wuss and just do it already."

Angel glared. "I see Hell hasn't done you any good."

"Does it ever?"

She got up and walked towards the door, stopping only when she reached the doorknob. "By the way, just to feed my morbid curiosity," she said, fidgeting with her scarf in a nervous habit, "how is Wesley doing these days?"

"He's with Fred," Angel replied, pointedly. "Let's not complicate his life by bringing in dead ex-girlfriends."

"Right," Lilah replied, bitingly."Cause that's _your_ forte,"

With Fred, huh? . . . Figures.

Lilah shrugged with feigned indifference, then turned around and opened the door. Suddenly, the face of a decrepitly aging woman on the other side literally popped out at her, and startled by the sight, Lilah jumped back slightly.

The old women brushed past her without pause, going straight for Angel. "You!" she said, in an accusing voice. "You bring death!"

Lilah stepped back into the room, interested and amused. "What else is new?"

Angel glared at her, "Very funny. Harmony! Get this woman out of here. Who allowed her in here, in the first place?"

"You did," the old women said, "for my eyes."

"Your eyes?"

"They see," the woman said, solemnly.

"Right," Angel said, annoyed. "Harmony, get in here!"

"No, wait," Lilah interrupted, with sudden realization. "Are you a seer? I remember you from last year."

"Yes, and I do you, you lawyer whore who sleeps with the enemy. I told you to stop. Now look. You're dead. Listen to me, and no death, but noooo. You ignore. Big hotshot lawyer with money to make and people to order around. You ignore me. HA! You're dead now. I laugh last."

Lilah smiled, forcefully. She remembered the eccentric old hag quite clearly now, and wished she didn't. She had warned Lilah that getting involved with Wesley was a mistake and would end in pain.

Yeah, Lilah thought dryly, cause it really took a seer to predict that outcome.

The woman quickly turned away from Lilah and stalked towards Angel with anger. It was quite funny to see a four foot old lady intimidate Angel, but apparently she did because Angel stepped back a couple of spaces. She stopped two feet away from him and spat on the floor near his feet.

"You bring death!"

"Now, wait just a sec–" Angel began.

"What did you see?" Lilah asked, interrupting.

"Blood will be spilt," the woman declared, solemnly. "He will come upon them unexpectedly, and blood will be spilt."

"I'll bring death?" Angel repeated dubiously. "To who?"

"I do not know," she replied. "I saw only death. And your pain. Those who you love will soon die."

"Hmm," Lilah said, smirking. "Somebody you know is going to die, Angel? Gee, I wonder who_ that_ could be."

She idly wondered how long Buffy would last.

Angel's eyes flickered towards her in annoyance, then locked onto the old lady again. "How? How will she . . . they . . . whoever it is, die?"

"You deaf? I told you I do not know. But death hangs over you as a cloud. It stalks you as if a scorned lover. I had the sight last night, and the sight is never wrong. You will see the demise of those you love. "

"Specifics would be nice," Lilah replied. "Besides the whole death thing you've got goin', anything in particular that you see?"

She nodded. "I tell you, but you will not listen. I know. No one ever listens to me. But I see and I know."

Lilah snapped, annoyed. "Then what do you know, o' wise and crazy hag?"

Her eyes hardened, and in a cold emotionless voice, she turned towards Angel and declared one prediction: "Two of those among you, that you hold dear, will die within the next week. And you will not be able to stop it."

Lilah raised an eyebrow, suddenly extremely interested. "Two within the next week? . . . Well, I have to honestly admit I didn't see that coming."

"Within the next week?" Angel repeated, harshly. "But Buffy's not due for another three weeks."

"I only tell you what will happen. I know not of this Buffy you speak of, nor of who will die. I just know the days ahead will be dark for you. Death is clear for all to see in your cold lifeless hands . . . That, and you have moisturized hands like a girly-girl."

Angel narrowed his eyes, suddenly showing utter disbelief. "You know, I've been around for over two hundred years, and that has to be the worst attempt at faking a prediction I have ever seen. I'm surprised you don't have a crystal ball with you."

"It's at home," the woman answered, blankly. "Too heavy to carry around with me."

Angel sighed. "Seriously lady, don't call us anymore. We'll call you."

She glared. "I told you that you would not listen! No one ever listens!"

"Harmony! Get this lady out of here!" Angel yelled, out through the door. "Harmony? Where is she, dammit?"

"But you must listen!" the old woman exclaimed.

"I did," Angel replied impatiently, "and now you're leaving."

"You do not heed my warnings. You will suffer, I tell you."

"For a long time, probably. But it will have little to do with you. Now go, please."

"Wait!" The women exclaimed, forcefully stopping Angel from pushing her out the door. "I have one more thing to say."

"What?" Angel asked, tiredly.

She cleared her throat, "How much do I get paid for this?"

Angel sighed, "My secretary will deal with that, wherever she is. Find her, she'll help you out."

"She is the one you call after like a banshee?" the old women asked. "The one called Harmony?"

"Yes," Lilah answered. "Blonde little thing. You can't miss her."

The old women nodded. "If I do not get paid, I put curse on you!"

"A little late, lady," Angel mumbled, finally managing to gently push her out the door.

Lilah couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips after the lady left. "Well, that was interesting."

"Shut up, Lilah."

"This is the type of stuff you've been spending so much money on?" Lilah scoffed. "Face it, Angel. You need Wesley's help. Tell him, or you're going to be wasting your time with more of these crackpot fanatics. Or don't, what the hell do I care? It's not my ex-sweetheart that's going to dust as a consequence."

Angel glared. "Get out, Lilah."

"Gladly," Lilah replied. "My work is done for now. Be seeing you soon."

She walked out the door, hearing Angel slam it behind her. She wasn't five steps out before she spotted the old lady again. After a moment of indecision, she walked over to the old lady, tapping her on the shoulder.

"Hi, it's me, the lawyer whore," Lilah greeted, lightly. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

The old lady refused, "I have to find this Harmony first. She has my money."

Lilah pulled out her wallet, grabbing the thick stack of money inside. "I've got money, too."

She hungrily eyed the money for a second, but it wasn't until Lilah pulled free a crisp hundred dollar bill and handed it to her that the old lady decided to give Lilah the time of day.

"Now, tell me more about this prediction," Lilah began. "Two will die in the next week? I've got a gut feeling about who one of them will be, but it's the second one that's caught my interest. If you saw them, would you be able to recognize them?"

"No, the sight does not work like that. All I know is that two will die, and they will be close to the cavemen boss. It could happen in five minutes, tomorrow, or a week from now. I do not know these things."

"Caveman boss?" Lilah repeated, amused with Angel's description. "Well, the caveman boss is a bit busy right now. He's asked me to look after you."

"Did he? I thought he did not believe me."

"Well, he may not, but I do," Lilah said. "Now let's just go and explore a way to find out who these two dead buddies of his are going to be. The Senior Partners would be very interested in learning about that."

Lilah lead the old hag towards the elevator, the entire time thinking furiously. She didn't want to make guesses, but it was a good bet that one of the dead was going to be Buffy. The odds just played out against the pregnant vampire. And, especially having never met Buffy, Lilah didn't feel one way or another about that particular likelihood.

But, Lilah wondered, who was this other person that was destined to die within the next seven days? And when was it going to happen? And how?

But mainly, she couldn't stop wondering . . .

Who?

-

Fred was getting dressed for her big date with Wesley.

With a giddiness of fresh love, she slipped into her light pink dress and adjusted the spaghetti straps properly. She couldn't stop smiling. It was their one month anniversary, and rushing to get ready after a full day of work, she ended up changing in her personal laboratory after all the other employees had left.

_It was their one month anniversary!_

It felt so much longer than that, so much more significant. She felt like she'd been dating Wesley for years, he just knew her so well. Thinking about it now, feeling the way she did, she often wondered how she could have been so thick headed for so long. Wesley had been right in front of her, in love with her, for so long and it was only one month ago that she realized how much he meant to her.

For a girl with an IQ of 180, she sometimes was really slow, wasn't she?

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and quickly grabbing her necklace off the corner laboratory table, she rushed to open the door expecting it to be Wesley, early for their date.

The sight of Angel greeted her instead.

"Oh," she said, dejectedly. "It's justyou."

He made a face. "Well, it's nice to see you, too."

"No, it's not that. I didn't mean to be sour-girl, it's just I was expecting . . . you know what? Let's just start over - Angel, what a pleasant and completely non-disappointing surprise!"

He smiled. "Thanks, Fred."

"You going out?" Fred questioned curiously, nodding towards the casual clothing he had on.

Unlike the business apparel she was now so use to seeing him in, he had donned on some khakis and a black shirt, with a classic leather jacket to complete the look. He looked like the Angel of old, not the Angel she'd seen for the last several months. She had to say it was a refreshing sight.

"Not really," he answered, evasively. "But I wanted to, ah . . . You busy right now?"

She shrugged. "Not really. Just getting ready for my big date!"

He looked her up and down. "Well, you look ravishing."

"Ravishing?" she repeated, flustered. "Really? No one's ever said that before about me, well, except that one time last year with the Kalase Demon who wanted to eat me, so that was more of, you know, food-type ravishing, not pretty ravishing. Not much of a compliment, if you ask me. But you meant the good kind, so thanks . . . You do mean pretty ravishing, right? Cause, I just realized, vampire!"

He nodded, amused. "I meant pretty ravishing."

"Great!" she beamed, quickly going over to the mirror tiled refrigerator in the corner to fix stray strands of hair. It was then that she noticed the necklace still dangling in her hands. She turned towards Angel with a pleading look, and held up the necklace. "You mind helping me, here?"

"My pleasure," he said, walking over to her and taking the necklace, quickly draping it over her and closing the clasp. She shuddered slightly when she felt his cold fingers brush against the nape of her neck, but shrugging off the effect, she turned around to find him extremely close.

He stepped back almost immediately, clearing his throat. "Gunn is going to be tongue-tied when he sees you."

Fred paused, confused and awkward. "Gunn? You mean Wesley, right?"

"Yeah, right. Of course. Wesley."

She smiled, still awkward, and stepped away from him. How weird was it that he said Gunn?

"So, Angel," Fred began, "presuming you didn't stop by here to help a girl in a necklace emergency, why are you here?"

He sighed, "I needed to talk to somebody . . . but this is a bad time, I can tell. I'll just come back later."

He quickly turned around as if relieved not to have to talk to her, but Fred saw through the hasty retreat.

"Wait! I can talk. It's not a bad time at all."

"No, that's really okay. You're busy getting dressed, its–"

"Talk, Angel," Fred said, in a pseudo-commanding voice.

He sighed again, suddenly looking heavy and worn out. "It's just . . . It's just I really need to talk to someone, and I don't know who I can turn to. And I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't get this off my chest soon."

"What is it, Angel?" she asked, gently. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me."

"I hope you feel that way after I tell you what's going on, because . . . it's big. I need to talk to somebody about it. And I can't go to Buffy and Cordelia, at least not yet. It's too complicated an issue. And I can't talk to Wesley or the guys, because I just don't know how to have this conversation with them."

Fred immediately became concerned - his demeanor was far too grave for her liking. He usually only became this way when there was an apocalypse approaching, or something horrible was going on in his personal life. She'd rarely seen him so high-strung, and so she automatically knew whatever this issue was that was bothering him, it was going to be big. And really bad.

"So I was thinking to myself, who could I go to?" Angel continued. "Then the answer came to me. You."

Fred didn't know what to say, she was so flattered. "You can always come to me, Angel. I'd be glad to help."

"I'd knew you'd say that, but . . ." Angel replied, solemnly. "God, this is so hard for me to say. The truth is, I've been deceiving you about something. Something huge, and I don't know how much longer I can keep it up. It's either tell you guys, or go insane keeping it hidden. I tried to be patient . . . but I just can't anymore."

Fred touched his forearm in comfort. "It's okay, whatever it is Angel, we'll get through it."

He smiled, sadly. "But that's just the thing, Fred. Not all of us are going to get through it."

She paused, disquieted. "What do you mean?"

His sad smile never wavered, "I mean, some of us are going to die. Because of my secret."

Hearing this, Fred felt the first stirring of fear grow in her. She almost didn't want to know. Didn't want to ask. But curiosity got the better of her, and unconsciously tightening her grip on Angel's forearm, she had to know the answer.

"What, Angel? What's your secret?"

Then, slowly, unexpectedly, his sad smile turned into something Fred wasn't expecting . . .

_Pure predatory._

He suddenly grabbed her roughly by the arm, bringing her extremely close.

"What are you doing?" she demanded nervously and, honestly, a little scared. "Let go. You're hurting me!"

"You wanna know what my secret is?"

"I said let go, Angel!"

He leaned in, whispering low and fierce. _"I'm not Angel."_

And then, in less than a millisecond, her eyes widened in fear and realization. But before she could muster the energy to scream or fight back, his hold on her tightened and he covered her mouth. His face vamped out, and in this terrified moment, looking at his demonic face, she knew she wasn't staring at the champion anymore. She wasn't staring at the guy who sang bad, and drank out of a container. She wasn't staring at the handsome man who had saved her.

She was starring at the demon inside . . .

_Angelus._

"It's just - I got tired of keeping it a secret, you know." he said, smiling. "I tried to be patient. I tried to do the whole hiding thing so I could plan properly. But the thing is, my best work has always been done in the spur of the moment. So I thought, to hell with it, to hell with everybody. I'm here, and I'm ready for my coming out party."

She struggled, trying to wrench free under his grasp. "How?"

"Long story," Angelus replied, "But don't bother yourself with the details. You see, Fred, you should feel honored. I really did mean it before when I said you were the perfect person I could turn to . . . because your mutilated body will be the perfect party favor for my coming-out party. Congrats."

"No, you can't . . .this isn't . . . Oh God, somebody help me! Somebod-"

He bit her so hard, blood splattered on the wall behind her.

-


	15. Daddy Promised

_. . . Fred's lifeless body hit the floor with a thud._

_Angelus smirked and wiped away at the trail of blood under his lip. Casually, he tipped his head to the side and took one last glance at Fred's body, smiling in satisfaction. Her eyes were wide open and fearful, even in death. He liked that. He found it more enjoyable than when his victims were left with those vacant expressions, devoid of any of the fear he had so painstakingly inspired in their last moments of life. But Fred here? She was a good sport about it. Her expression was sure to haunt the others once they found her body – good for inspiring a nightmare or two._

"_Angelus?"_

_Angelus recognized the voice easily, and turned around with a smirk. The familiar woman standing in the doorway was slender; she had an almost perfect figure, with a thin waist and athletic limber legs.  
_

_She glanced around the place, and smiled with a feral grin. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with your food? Just look at the mess you've made; all that wasted blood. And you didn't even save me some?"_

_Angelus licked the blood clean off his fingers, "Fred surprised me and put up a fight. Who knew the girl had it in her?"_

_She sighed, wearily. "Should we be expecting company soon? Your former buddies aren't going to be dropping by this place, right? Cause, call me over-sensitive, but the last time I got the feeling they didn't like me much. Maybe it was the holy water and stakes that tipped me off."_

_Angelus shrugged. "It's only a matter of time before they show up, but we've don't need to rush. I figure it'll be a good twenty minutes before any one comes looking for Fred. Plus, they don't know I've suddenly gone un-souled, thanks to you. Poor Fred here didn't have a clue until I started to get rough."_

_She rolled her eyes. "Why is it you always go for the girls first, never the guys? I mean, I know you love the whole damsel-in-distress thing, but c'mon. I never thought I'd say this, Angel, but I think you might be becoming predictable."_

"_Predictable?" Angelus repeated, entertained, "I don't think Fred thought I was too predictable. And if memory serves, I had an easy enough time surprising you when we were enemies. Back then I doubt you would have ever called me predictable, Buff."_

_Buffy smirked, lightheartedly, "You're right. I would have called you a lot of stuff - bloodsucking fiend, monster, jerk, a barrel of decaying dead monkeys - but not predictable. But just for the record, when we were enemies, I was a 17 year old slayer with a broken heart. I've changed since then. I'm not 17. I'm not a slayer. And, oh yeah, don't really need my heart anymore. Since then, losing a soul has done wonders for my outlook on life."_

"_And can I add," Angelus said, circling her, "your sense of fun has improved dramatically, as well."_

"_Just don't you forget it, Buddy. Otherwise I'll have to remind you."_

_Her eyes glinted with promises, and with his blood already boiling with the rush of a good kill, seeing her standing there, slim figure silhouetted by the background light, he felt a flush of desire course through his entire body. He walked across to her without hesitation and swept her off her feet, kissing her passionately. So passionately that when they pulled apart, her lips were bruised, swollen, and bleeding. _

_He wanted to take her right there._

_Buffy grinned, as if reading his mind. "Not here, Angelus. You know how the old saying goes - we have things to do, and people to kill. Honestly, keep your mind a little focused."_

"_Why?" he asked, moving down to kiss her slender neck in a particularly sensitive spot. "Everything's working as planned."_

_It took Buffy a moment to respond, mainly because she was starting to become affected by Angel's special attention. "Well . . . duh. It is my plan . . . But let's not celebrate until all your little LA friends are toe-tagged, alright? You have no idea how hard it was for me to get to this point. All the backstabbing. The killings. The manipulating. It wears a girl down."_

_Angelus smirked, having to give credit where credit was due. If Buffy hadn't planned this to perfection, they wouldn't be standing in Fred's blood right now. Sure, it was a stroke of luck that Buffy had been turned into a vampire a little over six months ago, but everything since that moment was all her doing. If she hadn't torn Sunnydale apart, if she hadn't finished off her friends, if she hadn't decided to take a trip to Los Angelus, mess with Angel's head, and magic him out of a soul, none of this would have happened._

_And, particularly for that last point, Angelus was going to be grateful for it. He bit into her neck, sucking lightly, which elicited a gasp of both pleasure and pain. It was still hard to think that it was only this side of two days ago that he had been a self-righteous souled bastard, upset over the news that Buffy had turned evil. So much had changed since then. He had changed and been released from a fate worse than death._

"_But it was worth it, right?" Angelus teased, seductively, "All the chaos of the last couple of months. Just to have me unsouled?"_

"_Cocky bastard," she muttered, lowly. "I just came because Spike lost his sense of fun in Sunnydale."_

_He suddenly let go of her, irritated at being reminded of that. "I still can't believe you were with him."_

"_Oh, God. Not again."_

_Moving away and leaving behind a flushed and somewhat annoyed Buffy in his wake, he glared at her for her seeming transgression. It irritated him to think of Buffy and Spike together. Buffy was his. And Spike was his grandchilde. That was just wrong on multiple levels. What was it with Spike, anyway? Every time he moved in on a girl, Spike was trailing his path not too far behind. First Drusilla, then Buffy. Who next? Cordelia!_

"_That's just wrong," he muttered, a foul taste in his mouth despite the flavor of Buffy's blood, "He's beneath you."_

_Buffy glared. "You know, I don't get you. The Scourge of Europe, they called you. Centuries worth of awe-inspiring chaos under your belt, but now, every time somebody mentions the name Spike, your face turns an odd shade of green and you throw a tantrum like a cranky two-year old." _

"_I do not throw tantrums."_

"_Would you prefer I use the term hissy-fit?" Buffy replied, annoyed, "Need I remind you that when I came here, you were two steps away from hookin' up with Cordelia. Cordelia! The girl in high school who proved that blond was not a hair color, but a state of mind. If you can hook up with Cordelia, why is it so terrible for me to hook up with Spike, huh? Riddle me that, Batman!"_

"_I had a soul then," Angelus countered. "What's your excuse? In fact, what's his? Peroxide boy turned on you! But gee, who didn't see that coming? Cause we all know loyalty was always one of Spike's top qualities–" _

"_Still smarting from the whole Acathla thing, I see."_

"–_And he turned good? Good! You were trying to have a nice little apocalypse in Sunnydale, and he suddenly decides he doesn't like being evil anymore and tries to stop it. Again. What is it with him and saving the world? He doesn't even have a soul, just some stupid little chip in his head from the government!"_

_Buffy sighed in irritation, "I should have known better than to bring up Spike, even in passing. You and he are more alike than you think. Jealousy must run in your family. Hell, it practically gallops."_

"_I am not like Spike!"_

_She glared. "You don't see me going half-crazed over Cordelia, do you?"_

_He raised an eyebrow. "You've tried to kill her several times."_

"_Your point?" Buffy replied. "Newsflash - I'm evil, sweetheart! Have been for the last couple of months. It's what regularly happens with vampires . . . Unless, of course, it's you on one of your souled days, or–"_

"–_Your precious Spike?"_

_Buffy glared. "Can we get back to the killings now?"_

"_Gladly."_

_He glanced down at Fred's lifeless body, and suddenly became all serious again. _

_Buffy began the effort of mentally pulling herself out of the argument, "So . . . Who do you want to kill next? I was thinking it would probably be a good idea to kill off Wesley now. I don't know about you, but allowing a former watcher to live and, you know, plan some of those crazy magical hijinks seems like a stupid idea to me. He may try to figure out another way to curse you . . . or even worse, curse me."_

_Buffy shuddered dramatically, as if the thought of being a souled vampire was a fate worse than death. Angelus knew she couldn't imagine the half of it. No vampire knew, except him, the pure torture a monster went through when he was trapped inside a souled body. Waiting. Wanting to kill. But locked and chained like a damn animal._

_He got all homicidal again just thinking about it._

"_Yeah," Angelus replied, fighting back a growl. "We'll kill Wesley next. They'll be leaderless and confused after that."_

"_Like they aren't now?" Buffy questioned, dryly. "Fine, whatever. Wesley, next. Then, I wanna kill Cordelia–"_

"_No," Angelus replied, firmly. "No . . . kill anyone but Cordelia. Cordelia lives."_

_Buffy raised an eyebrow, a spark of jealousy flashing. "Why?"_

_He smirked; she still had so much to learn. "Buff, you should know that the golden rule to any massacre is to always leave one alive."_

_She picked up on his preaching tone, "And why is that, psycho-wan-kenobi?"_

" _. . . To spread the tale, of course. Every story should always have a survivor."_

_END FLASHBACK_

_Los Angelus, California. August 14, 2002._

_Buffy and Cordelia's Home-World_

Lightning crashed and thunder could be heard from miles away. From nowhere, it seemed, the weather had drastically changed. A storm had arisen, and while the wind howled and the rain plummeted down with a vengeance, everyone in Wolfram and Hart continued with their work without a glance out the window.

If they had simply known about the chaos that would rein against them in the coming hours, most would have been - to put it eloquently - scared shitless. Screaming and panic would the overtaken nearly all of Wolfram and Hart's employees . . . Except, of course, for Lilah. She would have probably found the entire thing incredibly appealing to her twisted sense of humor. Assuming, that is, she wasn't caught up in any of the chaos personally.

Unfortunately, fate wasn't choosing to be kind to her either.

As she pushed open the doors to the garage floor, her mind was whirling with the day's events. Her first day on a new job. She was the brand-spankin' new liaison to the Senior Partners for the Los Angelus branch, which was now being run by her (former?) sworn enemies. People that she spent the better part of four years trying to kill or piss off. And, well, in the end, she was the one screwed over.

Speaking of being screwed over, Lilah thought as she fidgeted with her scarf, she still hadn't seen Wesley yet. She had considered stopping by to see him tonight before she left the building, but after a few minutes of internal debate, she had decided against it. Seeing Angel was one thing, but seeing Wesley was entirely different. Besides, she was going to be working closely with this group. Her presence wouldn't remain a surprise for long, and that meant eventually they would have to have the requisite awkward conversation of ex's.

_. . . It's nice to see you again . . ._

_. . . You look good . . . _

_. . . How's the inferno depths of Hell been treating you lately?. . ._

Hmm, what a fun idea _that _was.

She didn't want to deal with that right now. There would be plenty of time to stop by and see him later - possible tomorrow. Plus, there was the added bonus of figuring out what to say to him. How to act? Should she play it cool and aloof? Or cold and aloof? The difference was subtle, but the effect was noticeable. After hearing about the fact that he had finally hooked up with brainy brunette, Fred, Lilah had to admit she was leaning towards cold and aloof.

Fred . . . God, what did he see in her? She still had no clue.

Heels clicking against the cement floor so hard it echoed throughout the otherwise silent garage, Lilah made her way towards her new company car. There were some added bonuses to being the new liaison to the Senior Partners, and a brand new MINI Cooper Convertible was one of them. She liked the car a lot . . . but she couldn't help but think she would have liked being alive a whole lot more.

Sighing in annoyance at the old train of thought, she was nearly to the car when suddenly, from the corner of her eye, something attracted her attention. A quick blur of black - there and gone before she could even turn her head.

Lilah stopped dead cold – no pun intended.

She could have dismissed the blur as her imagination, but let's face it - she wasn't some dumb 21 year old co-ed who was naive enough to wander down an eery alleyway all by her lonesome self. She was Lilah F-ing Morgan. Naive wasn't even in her vocabulary.

Instinct told her she needed to get out of here. Quick. And Lilah was nothing if not quick on the uptake. She hastily pulled the car keys from out of her purse and used the keyless entry button to unlock the doors with an all-too-audible-beep from the car. _Fantastic_, Lilah thought dryly, _stealth is highly overrated anyway_–

Faint footsteps echoed from behind her.

Lilah found herself quickening her pace. And even as she did, she had the grace to feel slightly foolish about it. Was it even possible for something to attack and kill her - considering she was dead already?

The footsteps got closer.

She didn't care about foolishness anymore.

"_Run and catch . . . run and catch . . . the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch._"

Lilah recognized the nursery rhyme in an instant, and perhaps more importantly, she recognized the voice - English accent. A graceful and delicate tone, childlike even. And filled to the brim with lethal and psychotic promises. It only meant one person. Lilah swallowed once, and turned around to meet the gaze of the psychotic vampire.

"Drusilla." Lilah greeted, assuming a look of surprise to mask her uneasiness. "When did you get back into town?"

Drusilla smiled, as if she saw right through Lilah's charade. "I smell fear . . . dreadful, covered in lies and thorns . . . no need to hide from me, little lamb."

Warning bells went off in Lilah's head, practically screaming for her to run and not look back. But Lilah knew better than that. After all, running only made things worse with monsters like Drusilla. They liked the chase. Her best bet was to stay put and not make any sudden movements. Wait until the cavalry, or the security guards, came running to her rescue.

She decided to not focus on the part where the security probably had no idea that Drusilla was even in the building. Man, did Wolfram and Hart's security suck.

Vampire detectors, my ass.

"So," Lilah began, trying to recover, "I like your new outfit; I like the way it says I'm here to destroy the world, but with a sense of fun."

"Do I know you?" Drusilla drawled, curiously.

Lilah's attention was momentarily distracted by the sight of the two dead bodies in the corner.

"Yeah," Lilah replied, clearing her throat. "We met about two years ago. You remember? I helped you get in touch with Darla. A nice little family reunion, and sorts."

Drusilla gave her a blank look, "My family's gone all to pieces in the garden. The fishes sing about it often."

Lilah was trying to figure out to respond to that when Drusilla continued.

"We've met? You and me? I don't remember that. But then again I don't remember a lot of things, like waking up this morning. But here I am, awake. It must have happened."

"Yeah, I've had those days myself. So . . . how's it going? Kill anybody I know lately?"

"Probably," Drusilla replied, "I've killed a lot today."

Lilah laughed, slightly nervous. She glanced around the garage, acutely aware that she was in a vacant room with a psychopathic killer of the grandest kind. Lilah guessed it helped that she was already dead and therefore not _that_ appetizing to a vampire, but the funny thing with vampires was . . . well, they hunted for sport, too.

Don't run, Lilah reminded herself, they like the chase.

"So," Lilah tried again, "you . . . you really don't remember me? You and Darla killed off a bunch of my co-workers in a cellar one time. Left me and Lindsey alive. Any bells ringing?"

"Oh yes, I hear bells all the time!" Drusilla exclaimed. "_Ringing. Ringing. Ringing _in my ears. Pounding like a dirty heartbeat. It fills my head."

"Actually, I was talking metaphorically. But . . ." Lilah was beginning to get desperate. "Are you sure you don't remember me? You and Darla didn't eat me the last time, so I'm assuming you liked me."

"Darla?" she asked, with child-like enthusiasm. "It does sound fun, me and Grandmother together again. I miss her. I miss everyone. The entire family is gone, though, scattered like dust in the wind. Acid rain in the gutter . . . I'm here to get them back."

"Oh," Lilah responded, in comprehension. "You're here for Angel. Right. Should have assumed. Oh, and you probably know that your, ah, ex-boyfriend is here, too. What was his name? Something to do with a sharp instrument?"

"Spike," Drusilla answered, face lighting up.

She'd read files on him. Bleach blonde hair. Leather jacket. Slayer of slayers. Also a pain in the ass to his Grandsire. She liked him already.

"That's right," Lilah said, nodding. "They're both around here some place. Would you like me to call them? Tell 'em that they have a visitor–"

Drusilla tipped her head to one side, "Shh . . . Do you hear that?It's lost in the wickedness, waiting for Daddy and my Spike to come and find them. But they can't, my lamb, can't find them. Not now, not ever. They're hidden too well."

Huh? Lilah thought.

Drusilla's voice suddenly grew grave, moaning in pain as she outstretched her hand towards something Lilah couldn't see. "Do you know the whispers? So many secrets in here. They're pounding my head. They won't stop and I'm getting an awful headache from them."

"Wolfram and Hart is known for their secrets," Lilah said, watching the women with caution, "They hide them well."

"Not from me," Drusilla replied, slowly growing calm and still. "I can hear them. _I know_."

For a moment, Lilah believed her and wondered what secrets of Wolfram and Hart Drusilla did know.

"Do you know where I could find Daddy? He left me to talk with one of his old friends. He wouldn't let me come, so I followed him. He'll be most upset and I want to make it up to him. I brought him presents."

"Presents?" Lilah questioned.

Drusilla pointed towards the bodies on the floor, "I want them to be fresh when I give them to him. He doesn't like it when they're stale."

"Riiight," Lilah responded, awkwardly. "I'll call up Angel right now."

Drusilla shook her head, and started circling around Lilah like a shark. "Not the Angel-beast. I said Daddy."

"Daddy?"

She stopped right behind Lilah, whispering in her ear, "You call him a monster. A scourge. Wicked, wicked. But I call him Daddy . . . I call him Angelus."

Lilah froze, and suddenly the thought of facing Drusilla wasn't the worst possible way to spend the evening anymore.

"Angelus?" Lilah repeated anxiously, turning around. "What do you mean? Angelus . . . he's . . . he's _here_?"

Drusilla nodded, once.

Suddenly, in perfect synch with Lilah's state of mind, the building's alarm went off, echoing throughout the garage. The red alarm lights flashed brightly from the corners of the room, and blinking against its strobe-like effects, Lilah felt an insane rush of relief that the idiots upstairs finally figured out something was wrong.

The relief was short-lived.

Drusilla was behind her in a blink of an eye. Two ice cold hands went around her waist, and before she could even think to do something as unseemly as screaming her head off, Lilah was pinned in Drusilla's embrace.

"Shhh," Drusilla whispered into her ear, "Don't move. I was wondering when they would find the bodies I left upstairs. They'll follow them like breadcrumbs, in that fairytale me mum use tell me about."

Lilah tried to remain her normal glibsome-self. "Hansel and Gretel? From what I hear, that wasn't a fairytale."

"Yes, Mummy had it wrong. She thought vampires were fairytales, too."

"And you proved her wrong?"

"No . . . he did."

Lilah didn't have to ask which "he" she was referring to.

Drusilla moved both of them to the corner of the garage, where it was covered by shadows. Lilah would have protested, but she knew it was useless. She didn't want to think about how easy it would be for Drusilla to snap her head off like a twig. It barely felt attached as it is.

"Are you waiting to get caught?" Lilah asked, after a moment. "They'll find you if you stay here much longer. Get out now and we can keep this little reunion we had to ourselves. I can keep a secret."

"Reunion?" Drusilla repeated, "But we never met before. I'm positive now, and I didn't even need the moon to whisper to me. We've never met, you and I. She was the other one."

Lilah was starting to get annoyed. She never knew memory loss one of the many brain ailments that Drusilla suffered from. But apparently . . . and then, with a type of force that would hit you upside the head, comprehension dawned on Lilah.

Drusilla. Angelus . . .

. . . Buffy. Cordelia.

Lilah felt clarity, "You're not from this reality, are you? You're from the other one."

Drusilla didn't seem to be paying attention to her anymore, because instead of responding, she titled her head towards the entrance door and uttered words with excitement and longing in her voice, completely captivated. "They're coming."

"Who? The guards?"

"No," she replied, face lighting up again. "Angel and Spike. My Spike."

As if on cue, the side doors burst open and in rushed Angel and several other people. She caught glimpses of the green demon, Gunn, and . . . a guy she assumed was Spike (by his physical description, anyway) skidding to a halt, shock covering their faces. She wasn't sure what caused the shock more. Most of them probably still had no idea that Lilah was their new liaison to the Senior Partners. They had no idea Lilah was even in the building. Coupling her surprising presence with the fact that Drusilla was holding her hostage . . .

More people entered through the side door - but her eyesight couldn't get beyond the presence of Cordelia. After all, the last thing Lilah had seen in her still-breathing-life was Cordelia's maniacal face. Lilah was dead because of that annoying cheerleader, and she would have made a biting remark about it, if the situation had been slightly more conducive to such a remark.

"Drusilla?" Angel questioned, surprised.

"Dru?" Spike reiterated, shocked.

"Lilah?" Wesley asked, dumbfounded.

Oh, where did Wesley come from? She hadn't even seen him.

"Hey Wesley," Lilah greeted, tightly. "You're looking well."

And damned if he didn't, Lilah thought annoyed, as she took in his appearance. Besides the whole shocked-mouth-hanging-open-like-a-fish-thing he had going because of her unexpected presence, Wesley still managed to look good. Damn. Why couldn't he have suddenly become a leper?

"Lilah, what are you–"

"I'm you're new Liaison to the Senior Partners," Lilah answered, lightly. "My first day on the job. It seems as if my second doom is imminent. So . . . how you doing?"

Lorne groaned, "I think I preferred Eve."

Wesley tried to form words through his shock, but failed miserably. Nothing like having your dead ex-honey dropping by unexpectedly to mess with your ability to form coherent sentences. Maybe Angel and Spike could give him some pointers . . . although to be fair, in the current situation, they weren't handling the shock any better.

Drusilla's grip tightened around her neck.

"You mind!" Lilah snapped, annoyed. "I wear a scarf for a reason!"

"Let her go, Drusilla." Angel ordered, calmly.

Spike went with a different approach. "Luv, what are you doing here?"

Drusilla giggled in Lilah's ear, "I was suppose to be a surprise. I've been a bad girl. Daddy's going to be very angry with me."

Angel stepped forward, overhearing the remark and misunderstanding. "You're damn right, I am."

Lilah struggled futilely against Drusilla's grip, "Oh, Genius-One. I don't think she was talking about you. Just call it a hunch."

"What?" Angel asked, confused.

"When did you get into town, Dru?" Spike asked, curious. "The last I heard about you, you were still in Europe, dining on the Greek. Rumor had it you were causing a lot of chaos."

"Not me," Drusilla replied, "That was the other one. I'm here to finish this. Finish it the way it began. We'll be a family again."

From outside the building, thunder echoed from miles away.

"Dru, baby." Spike began, "We've changed. We can't be a family again. Not like before."

"Daddy promised me a family. Like before. Before she charred his heart and you with the branding iron. Daddy promised."

Angel looked confused, "I didn't–"

Lilah cut him off, "She means Angelus–"

"Bite your tongue," Drusilla whispered into her ear, threateningly. "No telling secrets."

Lilah shuddered, "Angel, do something."

But Lilah had uttered those words to Angel once before, years ago in a cellar, and that hadn't turned out so well. So, deciding to get herself out of this situation, she fumbled for her car keys and hit the small "Panic" button on the side, sending a signal to the MINI behind them.

As planned, the car alarm suddenly blared with a high pitch screech.

Drusilla, temporarily distracted by the loud noise, loosened her hold on Lilah. Lilah took advantage of it, slammed her right foot against Drusilla's shin, and pushed away with all her strength, casting herself forward to get away from the psycho-vampire . . .

Only to land in the arms of Wesley.

It was a moment of surreal stillness in his arms before she acknowledged the chaos that had broken out behind her . . . Spike, having attempted to launch an attack against Drusilla, slammed onto the rooftop of nearby car when the attack went poorly with the swiftness of a Wile E. Coyote cartoon. Angel was next, hitting the ground equally hard when Drusilla quickly dispatched his assault. Gunn, Lorne, and Cordelia had no chance against her, and Wesley . . .

Wesley was still holding onto her.

Lilah pulled herself free, and turned around to see Drusilla standing calmly, smiling in victory.

"Not yet, but soon. Daddy promised."

Then, in a flurry of black once again, Drusilla retreated faster than the eye could follow. Over the car tops, sliding past the dead bodies on the floor, and to the exit. She was gone before Angel and Spike could even get to their feet.

In the silent void that followed Drusilla's wake, Lilah turned to the two vampires present and said, "Well, that was a pathetic display on your parts. I believe she just officially made you two her bitches."

Angel ignored Lilah, "What was Dru doing here? When did she get back into town?"

Lorne shrugged, "I don't know. But apparently, she thinks Santa Claus has a good idea. She visits us practically every year."

Angel turned towards Spike, "What do you think she wants?"

"I think it's fairly sodding obvious what she wants," Spike replied, gruffly, "What I don't get is–"

"What did she mean by Daddy promised?" Cordelia asked, anxiously. "Did you talk to her, Angel?"

"Oh, yes." Lilah answered for him, bitingly. "Your powers of deduction are exceptional. I simply can't allow you to waste them here when there are so many crimes going unsolved at this very moment. Go, go, for the good of the city."

Cordelia glared.

"What did you think?" Lilah continued, turning to point to Angel. "That's he's been keeping in touch with his psycho childe behind your backs all this time. When would he have time for that, exactly? Would that be before or after he bangs his dead sire and helps her spurt out his very own hell-spawn."

"Lilah," Lorne began annoyed, dismissing the half-truthful words as sarcasm, "Let me be the first to say, I liked it better when I knew you were in hell."

Angel glared at her, pointedly. "Seconded."

"And who the bloody hell are you?" Spike demanded, annoyed. "And what did Dru want with you? I'd like to know why she didn't kill you right off the bat. Especially–"

"Before you get too much into that sentence," Lilah interrupted, "You might want to check your security. Drusilla had company in the building."

"More vampires?" Gunn questioned.

"Just one, that I know of." Lilah replied, glibly. "And this is where I pause for a dramatic emphasis. We've got the lightning and thunder for the atmosphere, now all we need is little animals scurrying away and we're set."

"Lilah, what is it?" Angel asked, annoyed. "Who was with Drusilla?"

Lilah smiled, "The way I understand it, Drusilla was here with family . . . Angelus."

Right on cue, thunder echoed loudly from outside, adding an ominous effect to the entire moment.

Gunn was lucid enough to comment, "I _hate_ it when it does that."

Lilah continued, "I would usually, at this juncture, point out in some form of sarcasm that Angelus and Drusilla probably came from the same alternate reality to which Cordelia here belongs to, but I think you've got more pressing issues."

"More pressing than Angelus being here?" Lorne repeated, incredulous.

"I don't know," Lilah replied, lightly. "But I just happened to pick up on the fact that two of your people are missing from this cozy little group discussion. You tell me, is that more pressing than Angelus?"

Everybody looked around to figure out what she was talking about, but Angel was the first to pick up on it. And she knew exactly what was going through his head when he did – the Old Seer's words – _Two will die within the next week, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. _

"Bloody hell. Where's Buffy?"

Cordelia, who had turned uncharacteristically silent since the mention of Angelus, snapped out of her daze, "She's, um, she was in the penthouse, resting."

Spike and Angel took off simultaneously towards the nearest staircase without further prompting, while the rest dealt with the other missing member of the group.

"Oh, dear God," Wesley suddenly muttered, paling to sheer white, "Where's Fred?"

lllllllllllllllllllll

Fred stirred, moaning in pain.

She felt weak, lightheaded, and felt pain in places of her body she didn't even know she had. Just opening her eyes was a task beyond exhaustion. Blinking in confusion and pain, it took her a moment before the memories came flooding back to her. She was getting dressed in her laboratory . . . a date with Wesley . . . and then . . . and then . . .

Oh God, no . . . Not Angelus . . . Please, let that have been a nightmare.

But even as she wished it, she knew it was fruitless to hope for such a thing. The pain she was in was too tangible. The memory of it too realistic. She choked back a cry of fear, feeling adrenaline course through her body as she remembered . . . remembered the bite. No wonder she was in so much pain, so weak. She touched her neck and when she brought back her hand, it was coated with a faint trail of blood.

Why wasn't she dead? Why didn't he kill her? She could have sworn those moments would have been her last. The fear had been too real, the inevitability of her death undeniable. It felt too much like the last three years had instantly vanished, and she was alone in the dark; trapped in Pylea again. A slave. A cow. Weak and–

Focus, Fred! Focus! No time to panic. You're stronger than this. You're stronger than this!

. . . But she felt so scared.

Breathing heavily, and choking back the tears that threatened to fall, Fred slowly forced herself to pull together. She couldn't freak out. She couldn't breakdown. That would solve nothing. So, she cleared her throat, and her eyesight slowly began to focus. The blurriness cleared away to reveal a familiar surrounding . . .

The Hyperion.

She was sitting on the floor of the lobby of the old hotel. He must have . . . he must have brought her here. After he bit her. Why? For what?

"Ah, good! You're awake," Angelus' voice filtered in from behind her. "I was sick with worry there for a second."

She turned around, still half-lying on the ground in weakness, one hand propping her up, and glared with her best intensity. "Bastard," she whispered, knowing he'd hear no matter how softly she said it.

His eyes widened in mock surprise. "Fred, that's not a very nice thing to say. And after I let you live, too. A young lady like you should have better manners than that."

"What would an animal like you know about manners?" Fred replied, voice still wavering with weakness. "You're nothing but a vulture. No, lower than that. You're the carcass vultures feed upon."

Angelus smirked, and walked over until he was completely towering over her. "Oh Fred, you have nothing to fear from my baser instincts." He then crouched, bringing himself eye to eye with her, "It's my finer ones that are telling me to kill you."

Fred turned away and coughed, if only so he wouldn't see the fear in her eyes.

"You alright?" he asked.

He feigned sympathy so pathetically that she felt like an idiot for having been fooled by his performance earlier. If only she'd figured out it was Angelus in the laboratory and not Angel! She should have noticed the subtle wrongness of his behavior, the odd way he'd been acting, but distracted by her own eagerness to see Wesley–

_Oh God, Wesley_, she thought suddenly, unable to mask the sharp anguish at the thought of him, _was she going to die without ever seeing him again? They barely even had a chance to be together. It wasn't fair, dammit! She never got around to telling him . . . telling him that she loved him._

"Oh, hey. Don't cry, Fred," Angelus coaxed, "I haven't even done anything yet."

"I'm not going to cry, Angelus. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction."

He smiled. "You know, you've changed. The last time we did this thing, in my world, you were already balling your eyes out by this point. You were shaking like a leaf, begging to be freed."

She turned around again, finding the strength to look him squarely in the eye, "Liar. I wouldn't do that. I may not be a champion, and I may not have any superpowers. But I walk with heroes. I know what courage is. And I know I would never beg to a scoundrel like you."

"Scoundrel?" he repeated, mockingly. "Brave little Fred is all grown up . . . I just want you to know - the other Fred? She did scream and cry; so much. Hell, I killed her quick just so I didn't have to listen to her whine anymore. But this time? Trust me when I say, it won't be quick."

She sat there, chilled by his words when he suddenly reached out and touched her bite mark. Appalled by the physical contact, she reacted on instinct, pushed his hand away, and attempted to slap him.

As his rough hand caught hers in mid-air, he said in amusement, "Please, Fred, a paper-cut would hurt more."

"I'll never beg," she said, with conviction she knew she probably couldn't hold on to, "and I won't scream."

"That's what they all say . . ."

He backhanded her so hard that shards of pain coursed throughout her entire body. The only thing that prevented her from flying across the room from the force of the impact was his rough hold. She felt dizzy. She felt sick. She felt like passing out. She ended up spitting up a bit of blood from a dislodged tooth.

But, she realized, she never screamed.

He looked suitably impressed, "Well, whataya know? You might be more interesting than I thought. Rest up, Fred. You're not ready yet."

"Ready for what?"

"That's for me to know and you to scream about later," he replied, smugly. "Until then, you'll be my honored guest. Emilio, here, is going to be your caretaker."

Fred turned around, and for the first time, spotted the large behemoth-looking monster with green scales standing in the corner. It was a credit to Angelus' intimidating presence that she hadn't noticed him before.

"I have to tell you, he doesn't talk much, so don't expect any good conversation. No, Emilio's skills are limited. Mostly smash and crash and killings, but I suppose in the end, that's what matters to a dumb monster, right?"

"You would be the expert on that," Fred said, boldly.

"Ouch. That hurt, Fred. Really."

Fred was half-relieved and half-terrified. "So, you're leaving me to your minions?"

Angelus nodded. "I'm expecting some company soon, so there's some arrangements to make. Don't feel neglected, though. I have plans for you. Unfortunately, right now, you're far too weak for it to be . . . worth my attention. So, rest up–"

Before Angelus could finish his sentence, a woman walked into the lobby carrying several shopping bags. She was petit, blond, and walked as if she didn't have a thing to fear from the monsters standing around her. Fred eyed her with surprise, but she received no acknowledgment back.

"Angelus, I need more money."

Angelus grew visibly irritated, "What is it now, Anya? I already gave you money today."

"Yes, but now I need more," she declared, matter-of-factly.

"For what?"

Anya sighed, obviously irritated at having to explain herself. "I have to go ask the sales person at the pet store if their gerbils come in bulk and if they have much white meat on them."

Angelus blinked in bewilderment, "I'm not even going to ask."

"They're for a vengeance spell!" Anya replied, heatedly. "I can't simply grant the wishes automatically anymore, because _someone_ here has my damn power source, so I have to resort to doing magic the old fashioned way. With smelly herbs and dead little creatures. You've reduced me to this."

"You're still doing your vengeance thing?" Angelus asked, annoyed. "You're supposed to be working for me now."

"Why?" Anya replied. "You have plenty of lackeys here to do your dirty work. As far as I'm concerned, you can just contact me when you want to return back to our home-world. Until then, I'll keep doing my own thing."

"So sorry to disappoint, Anya," Angelus replied, sweetly, "but it doesn't work like that. You work for me as long as I've got your precious little necklace! Now, you're going to start earning your keep around here. I have a message for you to deliver. Go inside the office and wait for instructions, I'll meet you there in a second."

Anya scowled at the order. "If I had my full powers right now, I'd punish you with–"

"Ah!" Angelus said exasperated, holding up a halting hand, "I do not want to hear about eviscerations, castrations, mutilations, or any other threat of violations from you! It's getting old. In the office, now!"

Anya intensified her glare, then marched into the office with exaggerated fury.

Angelus ignored her, and turned towards Emilio and handed him something - a necklace. "Keep this safe while she's here. I don't trust her."

"I'm liking her already," Fred muttered, under her breath.

Angelus overheard and turned towards her. "You know, Fred, I wouldn't try to become buddies with Anya there. Unless, of course, you like having your entire life screwed over. She has the uncanny ability of making your greatest wish your worst nightmare. Just ask Cordelia."

"What do you mean?"

He did a one-shouldered shrug. "Nothing, never mind. You wouldn't grasp the beauty of it, anyway."

Fred became curious, despite the circumstances. "What do you have planned for Buffy and Cordelia? Haven't you done enough to them already!"

"You can never do enough," Angelus countered. "Buffy and Cordelia are part of me, you see. Those two women, they just know how to get under my skin. They can push my buttons like no one else. I'm just returning the favor."

"Returning the favor?" Fred repeated, incredulous.

"Well, yeah," Angelus replied. "For one thing . . . Didn't Buffy tell you? She was the one that removed my soul."

Fred swallowed. "So you're going to try and take hers away?"

"I don't have to," Angelus replied. "I just have to wait for the kid to spurt out. The rest will take care of itself . . . I'm still debating on who gets to finish the kid off, though. I kind of like baby fingers."

Bile rose in her throat. "You're despicable."

He grinned, "Only a little."

He turned around and walked away, stopping only a second to speak quietly to the monster named Emilio. When they finished conversing, Angelus nodded once, turned back to give Fred a wink, and walked away.

Emilio walked over to her and roughly pulled her to her feet, dragging her across the lobby before she even had much of a chance to protest. She tried to fight and scream, but she just had no energy. Angelus had taken too much blood. Helpless to do anything but be dead weight, Emilio had to carry her and practically push her down the stairs to the basement. At the bottom, a steel reinforced cage glistened at her in mockery. It was the same cage they had used to lock up Angelus last year during his brief yet terrifying visit. Now, in a role reversal, she was going to be its new inhabitant.

Fate, and its damn sense of humor.

Emilio roughly pushed her into the cage and slammed the door closed behind her. She looked around the small 10 x 12 space, and was simultaneously afraid and relieved once again. She couldn't get out, but the metal bars between her and the vampires gave her the illusion of isolation. And isolation from Angelus was a big plus in her book.

She just had to wait, and hope the cavalry arrived soon.

–

As Buffy wrapped the towel around her body, she cast a quick glance towards the rain pelting down against her penthouse windows. She was thirty stories up in Wolfram and Hart's building, and it was a unique view to see the storm from such a high angle. Still, without further thought of the storm, she turned away and started to dry her hair with another towel.

The doors suddenly burst open with a force so hard it cracked the wood.

Before Buffy could even respond, both Angel and Spike rushed into the room without warning, leaving Buffy to feel (1) alarmed and a bit angry at their unannounced entry, and (2) slightly self-conscience about her state of undress. She was still only wearing a towel. Either way, they better have a good reason for barging in like this.

Angel was on his cell phone as he walked towards her. "Call security, put 'em on red alert. Nobody gets in this building without clearance from me. I want a guard at every entrance, every elevator, every stairwell. Cover the whole building."

Buffy could hear Harmony's voice on the other end, "OK, but you know how that never works–"

"Harmony!" Angel barked, before hanging up. "Just do it!"

"You alright, luv?"

"Uh, yeah," Buffy answered confused. "Why wouldn't I be–"

Spike immediately brushed past her to check out her bedroom. "All clear!" he announced, as if he should expect anything otherwise.

"Buffy," Angel said from the other end of the penthouse, going through the same motions as Spike, "get away from the windows."

"Why?" she asked, more curious than anything. "Is some big bad gonna come crashing through it?"

"Buffy, just please, get away from the windows!" Angel pleaded, with exasperation.

Buffy sighed and moved away from the windows as asked. Standing in the middle of her living room dressed in nothing but a towel, she crossed her arms and tapped her right foot with annoyance, waiting for Angel and Spike to both finally find the room secure enough to their liking. She noticed with increased irritation that there were suddenly several guards posted outside her door. There was obviously a serious threat behind all this, Buffy figured, probably to her baby. For that reason alone, she cooperated. Still, she didn't like how they were treating her. Like she was somebody incapable of taking care of herself.

"It's not those wacky robots you told me about, is it?" Buffy asked, lightly. "The ones that attacked Wolfram and Hart dressed up as Ninjas and Wesley's dad? Cause I've dealt with robots before. Hell, Spike even made a robot out of me, so I know how to handle myself if it is."

"No, It's not . . ." Angel began, then turned to look accusingly at Spike. "He made a robot out of you?"

Spike sputtered, "To play checkers with!"

Buffy sighed. "Guys, what's with the security up the wazu? And there better be a damn good answer, 'cause in case you haven't noticed, I'm not even dressed–"

"Oh, we noticed," Spike put in.

"–I don't think it's too much to ask for you to give me some info. What's going on?"

"Drusilla was in the building."

"Oh," Buffy said, instantly understanding. "Okay. Now I get why you guys are acting like you drank some blood of suspect origin. But why are you worried about me? Of the three of us here, Drusilla isn't going to be too concerned about me when she can turn her attention to her former sugar-daddy or her former boy-toy."

Angel and Spike traded looks.

"Uh, Buffy, while all that sounds peachy in theory . . . Dru's not from around here. Actually, funny thing, she's from your reality. And word is . . . she didn't come alone."

As soon as Buffy understood his words, she felt her body turn ice cold. "No."

"It's not for certain," Angel attempted to reassure. "Because we're going on the word of someone I usually don't trust - a lawyer, in fact. But I just think its better safe than sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"It's not possible." Buffy replied, in a daze. "Angelus can't be here. He can't. The PTB promised this world would be safe. They said–"

"The PTB are lying buggers that only look out for the greater good," Spike replied, heatedly. "They don't give a piss about you or Angelus. But don't worry, tho'. We do."

Buffy still couldn't pull herself out of her daze. The mere idea of Angelus had a way of effectively blocking out all proper brain functions and rationale. How was she going to deal with him? How was he going to torment her? What did this mean for her baby?

Was a part of her still attracted to him?

"Buffy," Spike goaded, "snap out of it otherwise I'll slap you . . . And I've got the nagging feeling you'll slap me back. So definitely snap out of it!"

She slowly refocused, knowing she couldn't freak out as much as that option was tempting her. Instead, she took one moment to gather herself up; calling on her courage, her strength, her resolve to build the determination she needed to face . . . Angelus.

Oh God, Angelus. He was here, now.

Buffy forced herself to concentrate. "How good is your security?"

"They've already set up positions everywhere in the building," Angel answered. "But don't rely on them. For a supposed top-notch security system, I've lost count of the number of times we've been broken into . . . Not to mention the number of times I broke into Wolfram and Hart before this year. And if I can do it–"

"–So can Angelus," Buffy finished, sedately. "Have you told them that they're looking for a guy who looks just like you? How are they suppose to tell the difference between you and Angelus? For that matter, how are we?"

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, "we're gonna have to color-coordinate you!"

Angel glared at Spike, then turned serious. "I'm gonna have to think of something to help you guys tell the dif–"

"Not you," Buffy rebutted. "Anything you think of, Angelus will think off as well. It won't work that way."

"I'll figure out a way," Spike cut in. "Me and Angelus don't think alike."

Buffy nodded, agreeing completely. That could be considered the understatement of the century.

Spike cleared his throat, and continued, "And, uh, Buffy, I think one of us should be with you at all times, just in case. If you agree with this plan, signify by getting indignant."

"Oh, like hell," Buffy spat out, outraged, "You guys are not going to go all alpha-cave man on me. I won't allow it–"

"Buffy–" Spike began.

"–might as well start beating your fists on your chest and roaring–"

Angel tried to cut in. "–Buffy, you need protection. I'm serious."

"So am I," Buffy replied firmly, deciding to change the subject. "Where's Cordelia right now?"

"She's downstairs, with the others," Spike answered. "Don't worry about her now–"

"What are you - deficient!" Buffy exclaimed. "You left her with no protection? God, don't you know Angelus at all? He's not gonna go after me now. Not this soon. He's gonna want to make me suffer."

Angel's eyes connected with hers in slow realization. "He's going to go after those you care about . . . Leave you presents to draw you out. I didn't even stop to think–"

"I'm not the one you need to protect, Angel!" Buffy exclaimed. "I can handle myself. But there are others who can't say the same. You need to make sure your friends are safe."

Spike's head whipped around in sudden thought. "The chit downstairs, the lawyer, she said two were missing. Who else wasn't there?"

Angel's looked back at him. "Fred."

Buffy felt a foreboding chill work up her spine, "He always goes after the girls first. Go, make sure she's alright."

Spike looked to her. "What about you–"

"I can take care of myself, thank you. And I'll be right behind you," Buffy answered, forcefully. "Let me change into some clothes first. But don't you waste time. Go, now!"

Even as Spike started making his way towards the door with a sense of urgency at the thought of Fred in trouble, Angel looked back at her with uncertainty. His eyes were clouded with conflict; he didn't want to leave Buffy alone, but Fred's whereabouts couldn't wait.

"Don't take too much time," he advised, making his decision to find Fred.

Buffy nodded, "I'll be right there."

"C'mon, mate! You can play footsie with her later. Fred doesn't have time!"

Spike disappeared out the door, and Angel followed him until he stopped to linger at the doorway. "There are guards right outside your door. They go everywhere you do - no arguments, Buffy! I don't care if they aren't that good. Some protection is better than none."

"I can protect myself."

"I know you can, but humor me. Angelus is gonna come after you."

"He's gonna come after you, too," Buffy replied. "The idea of finally killing off the soul is going to appeal to him just as much as the idea of killing me off."

"He doesn't want you dead," Angel replied, "he just wants you to suffer."

Buffy smiled, woefully. "Wow. I feel so reassured now."

"I'm serious, Buffy," Angel said, solemnly, "watch your back. I don't think I could handle anything happening to you. I don't . . ."

He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. For one brief moment, Buffy locked eyes with his and suddenly she felt an ocean away from him. A flare of intense emotion passed between them; mixed with pain, ecstasy, heat, and the never-ending passion and love only they had. She wanted nothing more than to cross the space between them and allow just one stolen kiss to help her gain the strength she needed to fight Angelus.

Because if there was anybody who was capable of making her forget about Angelus, it was, ironically enough, Angel. But instead of giving into her temptations, she went with the high road and found herself urging him to leave with a whisper.

"Go, Angel."

He hesitated . . . eventually nodded, then left.

In his wake, she forced herself to recover. And then, slowly, she could feel a long-forgotten energy charge her entire being, motivate every fiber, focus every stray thought. It was uncanny how easy it was to do this; as if she had never been a killer before, never been a vampire, never been a mother-to-be, she felt herself slip into a familiar form.

The Slayer.

Buffy went into a flurry of activity. She raced to quickly change, grabbing whatever clothing was nearby. Dressed in a white maternity T-shirt, black chinos, and one of Angel's large engulfing leather jackets that he had loaned to her, she pulled her hair back in a pony tail as she walked out the door. She was two steps out before she realized that she needed weaponry, but there was none in her room.

She looked at one of the nearby guards, "What weaponry to you have?"

He grinned, apparently very pleased to talk about his gun. "It's called a stakegun, and the name says it all. You can stake enemies to walls, poles, floors, and even ceilings! Or, if you're in our line of work, you can just stake vampires in the heart and be done with it."

It looked too big and massive to be much good to her. She could probably inflict the same amount of damage with a simple stake and sheer force, which was why she only got interested when she spotted his side-satchel with the spare stakes that were peaking out.

"That's nice. Your gun, I mean. You're obviously not overcompensating for anything at all, but how about you give me your stakes?"

The guard looked offended, although Buffy wasn't sure at which part. "What?"

"Stakes, and the satchel, too," Buffy said, sweetly, "please."

His mouth opened and closed in protest, but eventually he did as told, looking very sullen the entire time.

She took the satchel and hoisted it above her head and over her shoulders, "Where can I find other weapons? A broad sword, axe, crossbow - that type of thing."

"We have an armory on the third floor, but the closest place to find weapons is . . ."

"Is what?"

"Is . . . well, you'll find all those weapons in Mr. Angel's suite. He has a whole array of weaponry there."

Buffy nodded, looking down at end of the hallway where Angel's room was (which she had secretly dubbed it in her head as the forbidden zone). Sighing, she started walking towards his room and slowly noticed with a tinge of annoyance that the guard was following her. Angel must have given him orders to stay with her at all times. She spared the guard an irritated glance, and continued on her way.

She stopped at the entrance. "I go in alone."

"But Mr. Angel said–"

"Mr. Angel won't know," Buffy cut him off, "and what Mr. Angel doesn't know, can't hurt him."

She opened the door and walked into Angel's penthouse, closing the door in the face of the guard. Pausing, she took in his room with a sense of hesitation and awkwardness. She had never been in here before and suddenly felt like she was trespassing. The place was the same size as her own suite down the hall, but the style was totally different. The style was very much Angel. There was a big king size bed to one side, covered in black satin and silk sheets, sparse furniture, and antiques everywhere. There was even several antique weapons on the walls, but those were more for decoration than anything else.

Her attention was temporarily distracted by the papers near his corner table. Something about them attracted her eye. Even knowing that time was a major issue at the moment and that she was here strictly for weapons and nothing else, curiosity got the better of her and she made her way over to the table.

She stopped short when she found on the table dozens and dozens of Angel's meticulous drawings . . . of which she herself was the sole feature.

In some drawings, she was smiling. In others, she looked pensive. In yet others, it was a full body drawing, showing her stomach plump and swollen from pregnancy. There were so many of them and each must have taken so long to draw in such minute detail that Buffy felt her throat suddenly constrict as she looked at them. They were so beautiful, too beautiful.

Suddenly ashamed of herself for looking at them, seeing them as something as personal as diaries, she quickly walked away. She was not here to snoop around in his room and invade his privacy. She was here for weapons. She was here for pointy sharp objects that helped her kill very bad things; not intimate drawings of the most personal kind. With renewed focus, she cleared her throat and looked for what she came here for.

She finally found it when she pulled open some cabinet doors, an array of shiny weaponry gleaming at her. She didn't waste time debating, but instinctively chose a short sword. Small. Effective. Easy to conceal. She was about to hide it under her jacket, but a sudden noise from the corner of the room attracted her attention.

She whirled around and met the veiny face of a female demon.

"Vampire," she greeted, her tone casual, yet her voice guttural and deep. "I am Anyanka. I believe we have a mutual pain in the ass. And he has a message I've been goaded into delivering."

"Angelus," Buffy gathered, drawing her sword high. "Where is he?"

Anyanka raised a contemptuous eyebrow at the sword. "Is that really necessary?"

"Necessary, no. Fun, yes." Buffy replied, then paused, "Wait . . . Anyanka? As in Xander's Anya?"

The demon immediately bristled, losing her nonchalance. "I am no one's Anya! I am Anyanka, Patron Saint of Scorned Women. A righteous sword to smite the unfaithful. I have nothing but contempt for the whole libidinous lot of the male species–"

"Way I hear it," Buffy cut in, "you were a thousand-year-old capitalist ex-demon with rabbit-phobia. And in love with one of my closest friends."

"That was this world's Anya! She was weak and human, and nothing like me!"

"Alright, alright, keep your veins on," Buffy replied. "So, you're from my reality, too? That makes you, Drusilla, and Angelus. Any other familiar faces I should be expecting? You didn't bring Clem along, did you? Riley? How about Harmony, cause quite frankly, we've already got one over here. We really don't need two–"

"While you continue on with this oh-so-playful banter, Angelus is probably taking great delight in playing with that girl with the absurdly masculine name."

"Who? What? Huh?" Buffy replied bewildered, then her eyes widened. "Do you mean Fred? He has Fred!"

"Yes."

"Is she still alive? Is she hurt?" she asked, then added threateningly, "You better hope she's fine, otherwise I might lose my temper."

"Oh, yes. You are so intimidating; I must buy boots just so I can shake in them."

Buffy's eyes narrowed, and said slowly, "Go ahead. Underestimate me."

Anyanka eyed her for a second, and what she saw must have made her reconsider. "I have no qualms with you. I'm just here to deliver a message. Eleven hundred years of spreading fear in the hearts of men, and I'm suddenly the demon equivalent of a telegram. I don't care about you. I don't care about this Fred. I just want to go home and continue my humble work where humans are known to lose control of their bowel functions at the mere thought of me."

"We've all got issues," Buffy replied, irritated. "Right now, you're standing in my way to eliminating one of mine. What's your message?"

"Angelus sends his regards. Fred is being held at the Hyperion. You want her alive, then come alone before sunrise. He'll be waiting for you."

Buffy didn't hesitate. "Tell him I'll be there."

Anyanka looked curious. "You have to know this is a trap."

"I do."

"Yet, you're still going?"

Buffy smirked, humorlessly, "Yeah, I'm still going. Why? Because not so long ago in a reality far, far away . . . there was one girl chosen in every generation. And going into death traps, and fighting for those who can't fight for themselves, and marching on when all possible strength and hope is gone - that's what that girl was all about."

"You're not the Slayer, anymore," Anyanka rebutted. "What you are is . . . dead. A vampire. The very thing a Slayer is suppose to kill."

Buffy shrugged. "Yeah, well, I was suppose to do a lot of things, but if you look at my history, you'll see I never could seem to do things the traditional way."

Anyanka rolled her eyes, not understanding whatsoever. "Humans. It's the soul in you that makes you stupid like this."

Buffy's hand tightened around her sword. "Is there anything else? Because I'm starting to get annoyed enough to forget the whole don't-kill-the-messenger thing."

"No. That's it. Make sure to come alone, though. Angelus made it clear - you bring any of your vampire lovers along, Fred dies."

Anyanka teleported out before Buffy could respond. She sighed, and then slipped the short sword under her jacket and walked towards the door. She'd expected to see the guard standing outside when she opened the door, but was slightly surprised when she spotted Wesley there, too.

Wesley didn't look well. In fact, he looked upset. She realized without being told that he must have already known about Fred. But instead of a look of devastation on his face, Wesley looked . . . pissed.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked, curiously.

Buffy schooled a look of innocence on her face. "Nobody. Hey, where's everybody else? You shouldn't be wandering alone when Angelus might still be in the building."

The guard behind him spoke up. "We've got this floor covered, Ma'am. Nothing to worry about here."

Buffy restrained from rolling her eyes.

Wesley peered past her to get of a view of the inside of Angel's room, "I could have sworn I heard voices in that room. You were talking to somebody."

Buffy shrugged. "It must have been the TV."

Wesley's eyes dropped to give her a pointed look. "Angel doesn't have a TV, you know that. Can I ask what were you doing there in the first place?"

Crap. She so didn't need this right now. What she needed was to figure out a way to leave the building without attracting any attention. Losing the guard wasn't anything troubling, but she preferred not to have to knock out Wesley if it came to it.

Buffy cleared her throat. "If you have to know why I was in Angel's room, Wesley, it was because I was getting weapons. Now, if you're done with the twenty questions–"

"Buffy," Wesley interrupted, oddly calm, "I'm just going to ask this one more time. Who were you talking to in that room?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "I wasn't talking to anybody. And before you ask - _yes, Regis, that's my final answer. _Can we please move on now?"

Wesley cleared his throat, visibly holding his temper in check. "You're lying to me."

"No, I'm really no–"

He suddenly brandished a cross from inside his jacket pocket and held it up. A burning sensation immediately spread throughout her entire body, repelling Buffy back a few steps by its sheer unexpected force. After a moment, she forced herself to look up at Wesley.

"I don't like being lied to," he said, in a voice that was calm with controlled rage, "so, maybe you should reconsider and tell me the truth now. It would be in your best interest."

The guard behind him looked alarmed, "Uh, Mr. Pryce, I have clear orders to protect this lady. You need to put down the cross now or I'll–"

Wesley slammed his elbow into the guard's face, knocked him down, and rendered him unconscious without ever taking his eyes or his cross off of Buffy. Buffy had to admit, she was surprised by not only his actions, but the quick and flawless way they were executed. The Wesley she had always known had been a weakling, cowering in the face of danger. Sure, in the last couple of weeks that she had been at Wolfram and Hart, she'd seen a different side of him.

But not this side.

"What, Wesley? Have you lost it completely!" Buffy accused. "I know you're worried about Fred, but beating up innocent people won't help anybody."

Wesley tipped his head to the side, curious. "How do you know that Fred's in trouble? I haven't mentioned a thing about her."

Just for a millisecond, she knew her eyes must have flickered with uncertainty before she recovered with a plausible answer. "Angel and Spike mentioned that she was missing. They had gone down to check on her."

Wesley's eyes suddenly grew vacant and distant, as if he was playing a haunting mental reverie in his mind. "She was in her lab. There seems to have been a struggle of some sort. There was broken furniture and . . . and blood on the wall. Lots of blood. _Her blood_. We don't know where she is now."

Buffy felt a spark of sympathy for him despite the current circumstances of him, you know, using a cross against her. Deep down, though, she knew he was just freaking out because the love of his life was in danger. For that reason alone, she hadn't already lost her temper and disarmed him of his cross. People in love acted foolishly. She knew that better than most.

Wesley refocused, narrowing his eyes. "Who were you talking to?"

"I told you already – nobody," Buffy said, feeling slightly awful for lying, "and before you decide to feel too secure with that cross in your hand, you should know that won't hold me back worth a damn. Not if I don't want it to."

"I know," Wesley replied, pulling out a stake from his pocket. "Just as I know this item will do just fine."

Buffy eyed the stake, feeling a strong spark of anger. "You have _got _to be kidding me! You're going to stake me now, Wesley? I don't buy it for one second. You don't have it in you."

"Believe it or not, I'm perfectly serious. If you chose to continue to lie to me, I will not hesitate to hurt you," Wesley said. "Where is Fred?"

"Why do you think I know?"

"Because your lover just came into town and abducted mine!" Wesley replied, vehemently. "Because he did it to get to you. Because you're a vampire on a leash, and I have not trusted you for one moment since you've been here!"

Buffy felt her sympathy quickly start to dissipate, "Y'know, I really fell sorry for you. You're suffering. There's just one thing I really didn't factor into all this. You're a thundering loony! You're not thinking clearly anymore, Wes. Because if you were, you'd realize you can't beat me. With a cross, a stake, or a damn rocket launcher. You seem to be forgetting who you're dealing with."

"I'm the only one here that never forgot," Wesley countered. "The others avoided thinking about it. They denied what you were, even to themselves. But I never overlooked the fact that you were a vampire responsible for ravaging nearly an entire reality. And I clearly never dismissed the fact that you are capable of such things even now."

"Wow," Buffy replied, astounded at his gall, "you know, Cordelia told me that you had changed since Sunnydale, but I don't see any difference at all. Sure, you've lost the 'butler' look and you don't shriek like a ten-year-old girl anymore. But you're still that same clueless boy, aren't you? Still the same watcher-wanna-be that didn't know which end of stake to use."

Wesley tapped the pointed end of the stake in his hand. "I do now."

"Your concern for Fred is touching, but it's starting to piss me off. Are you forgetting that I have a soul now?"

"Your baby's soul. Not your own."

"What difference does that make?"

"To me, right now, all the difference in the world."

Buffy sighed. "This is insane. I am not evil, Wesley! Put the weapons down before I make you put them down."

"Tell me where Fred is," Wesley replied. "Tell me she's safe and we can save her, and I will put down this weapon gladly . . . But if you continue to lie to me, Buffy, - if you continue to tell me you don't know where Fred is, that you weren't speaking to anyone in that room, that you don't know what Angelus is up to - I will show you exactly how much I have changed since Sunnydale."

Buffy looked him in the eyes, and realized he was being perfectly serious. Not that he would succeed, because even with all the weapons Wesley could ever want, he still had no chance against her. But the stark resolution and determination in his eyes sent a chill down Buffy's spine. If he thought Buffy was standing in his way to Fred, he'd try and hurt her. Maybe even try to kill her.

He had changed.

But then again, so had she.

In a whirl of movement before Wesley had a chance to breath, Buffy had him disarmed and his arm twisted painfully behind his back. She shoved him against the wall, dropped the scolding cross from her hands, and twisted his right arm until he gasped a grunt of pain. With his face pressed up against the wall like that, he couldn't even breathe without her permission.

"Listen to me very carefully, Wesley," Buffy said, into his ear. "I don't know what you're thinking. Or if you're even thinking at all. I'm not working with Angelus. I would kill myself before I went back to his side."

"Then you have no reason to lie to me," he replied, through clenched teeth.

Buffy paused for a brief second, then abruptly let him go. A tactical decision had formed in her mind without even thinking about it. When he slowly turned around, massaging his shoulder, she looked him in the eye and handed him back his stake without hesitation.

"Take it," she said, "you'll need this where we're going."

He eyed her, distrustful. "Which is?"

Frustrated, Buffy replied, "Right now you're acting a little too insane for my liking, and I'm probably going to be watching my back with you from now on. But for the moment, there's no reason for us not to work together. You want Fred back, and I want . . . I want Angelus dusted. Our goals have the same destination . . . The Hyperion."

"That's where he has Fred? Is she alright? Is she alive?"

"She's alive. I can't promise anything else."

Wesley exhaled, as if he'd been holding his breath. "The Hyperion?"

She nodded. "Yeah. You were right, I was talking to someone in there. A messenger from Angelus."

"I knew it."

Buffy scowled. "Didn't give you the right to act the way you did."

He raised an eyebrow, defiantly, "If the roles were reversed, would you have acted so differently? I seem to remember a time when you were willing to do anything, including sacrificing your very own blood, to save your lover. Have you changed so much since then?"

Buffy paused, but knew the answer wasn't something she would have been proud of. "She told me that if I didn't come alone before sunrise, he'd kill Fred. That's why I didn't tell you before. I knew you'd want to come along."

He nodded, seeming to accept this answer. "Then, can I ask, what changed your mind?"

Buffy exhaled forcibly. "The way you're acting, I'm not sure I get much of a choice here. Besides, Angelus' instructions mainly applied to Angel or Spike. No offense, but I don't think he'd think much of you coming along."

"Right, of course. No need to consider the boyfriend of the girl you've just kidnapped. Ignore him completely because he can't _possibly_ be of any concern."

Buffy snapped, "Oh cry me a river, Wes."

Wesley sighed, growing calmer. "I don't suppose you have a plan yet."

"Well, I was going to suggest a better plan than 'charge in and allow ourselves to be brutally killed.' That's just a start, though. But let's get one thing strait. I'm in charge. You do as I say. If I say jump, you better ask me where, when, and how high. You got that?"

Wesley hesitated for a moment, but eventually relinquished any debate. "Fine. I'll follow your lead on this one . . . but just know, I'll be keeping an eye on you just as much as I'll be keeping an eye on Angelus. I'll be watching you, Buffy."

Buffy eyes hardened, seeing the distrust reflected in his eyes, "Well, what do you know? After all these years, you're my Watcher again, Wes."

He blinked, a strange expression appearing on his face, "I'll try not to screw it up this time."

She refocused on the problem, "We need to think up a strategy."

"He's no doubt made preparations for you, so we'll be walking head first into a trap. We're going to have to think outside the box for this one."

Buffy gave a short unamused laugh. "Wes, outside the box is where we live."

Wesley couldn't argue with that. "So how do we work around Angelus' trap?"

"I don't think we can," Buffy answered, wearily. "Angelus is the master at setting traps. He always knows the perfect carrot to dangle, and when to pull the rug from under my feet. We can't underestimate him . . . so, we do the unexpected. We give him exactly what he wants."

Wesley eyed her, "And what is that?"

Buffy's eyes grew cold, preparing herself for battle. "Me."

– . . . . . .

Author's note:

Before the flames start coming in, I'm deeply sorry it took so long to put this chapter up. A series of events happened that delayed my writing, also some bad motivation on my part, and the mother of all Writer's blocks all coincided to make this chapter a total headache to write. I know I had said that I was going to post one chapter every month, but . . . . well, that was a big fat lie, wasn't it? All I can say is I'm sorry, and I'll try (no promises, whatsoever though) to write faster.

To those that that reviewed last chapter, convinced I had killed off Fred, I have this to say: GOTCHA, SUCKERS! Mwhahahah! My evil plan to fool you all worked like a charm! Now you know not to trust a thing in this story until I have confirmed it! Cause, you know, knowledge is power, and power corrupts. The moral of this story: Study hard and be evil.

Being evil is fun; trust me on that.

Anyway, I know this chapter didn't have the confrontation you all were hoping for: Buffy-Angelus or Angel-Angelus, but don't worry, it's coming up in the next chapter. Also, I've got more surprises in store for Fred. So until then, here's hoping I get over my writer's block. :crosses fingers:

P.S. The review button on the lower left hand corner is your friend. Pay him a visit on the way out, won't you?


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